Chiron's Welcome
by BonnyAngel
Summary: Co-Authored w/ Ubberscribbler L/K She felt as if she had more to do and it was slowly driving her to the edge of sanity. She felt the knowledge that home was close, very close. AU from SaGN, crossover w/ Sid Meier's Alpha Centauri/Alien Crossfire
1. Chapter 1

Hello ya'll! This one was on repeat in my head so I thought I would see where it went.

AU from 'Sometimes a Great Notion'. Cross over with the Alpha Centauri game and we are going to pretend that there were humans on Earth (along with the Cylons) – pairings abound but will focus on Kara and her interaction with the people of Planet.

To clear up confusion before hand – I am writing as if all human factions are in existence (i.e. – 12 factions, no aliens).

* * *

A tear slipped down her cheek. Kara swiped it absently. It was crushing; standing on Earth…Earth the wasteland. It was worse after the euphoria, the joy of staring down at the beautifully blue planet, with dreams of bright shiny futures. Kara pressed a hand to her chest to ease the ache there. She felt her breath begin to grow labored and recognized the first signs of a panic attack. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply and remembered the sweaty encounter with Lee on the observation deck. At that moment, she had felt complete. Her purpose fulfilled.

The sense of completion was gone and she couldn't stand it. She needed something to keep her occupied and focused, something to give her purpose. She stumbled to the Raptor with the transponder in it and dug through the bag. It was still on and she seized the distraction, moving out of the Raptor quickly.

She set off in search of the transponder that led the human race here, unaware that Leoben had decided to follow her.

* * *

The heat on her face wasn't soothing in the way that fires on the beach are supposed to be. But then again, a lot of things weren't as they were supposed to be right now. She rested her head on her knees and pushed the urge to curl up and cry there on the sand down. She could feel Lee's gaze…well Lee and Sam's gaze and really could not deal with either of them right then. Two men that loved her, beyond reason and all good sense. She couldn't stand it, she couldn't take it right now and she wasn't sure she would ever be able to.

Everyone had their breaking point and she was good at finding them – pushing them and forcing the people who cared away. Look at Leoben…as soon as he saw the body - he was gone. She shook her head, stood and made her way past the two men, neither glancing at them nor acknowledging them.

Lee called her name but she just quickened her pace and made sure she was on a different Raptor than both he and Sam.

* * *

She lay, staring at the roof of her bunk. She had been still for hours. She could feel the stares of her fellow pilots and she had a feeling that they were giving her a lot of space. Lee had told her once that he could always tell how far from the edge she was by the look in her eyes, almost like a weather broadcast. Maybe the other pilots were catching on.

The ache in her chest was back, twice as bad now. She felt as if she had more to do and it was slowly driving her to the edge of sanity. It was like those first few confusing days back on Galactica again. Nothing made sense and her sense of time and space was distorted. Something was calling her, something so close, so near that her skin was vibrating with the need to be there and not here.

She could still smell Lee on her skin as she zipped up her flight suit. He had come to her during her sleep shift, interrupted her staring contest with the bunk roof. She'd heard about Dee in the whispers of the other pilots and wasn't really surprised that he sought some comfort with her. That was how it always was with them – one was hurting, the other would soothe. She guessed had just been her turn.

Those three hours were ingrained in her head now. She felt it – like a touchstone of strength through the obstacles to come. Lee had been her key – he'd helped her unlock what her next step was and she felt steadier for it.

* * *

45 minutes ago

_She and Lee laid together, still connected. They both were slick with sweat and she could feel his silent sobs against her chest. She felt his tears on her throat and hers mixed with his hair. She ran her fingers through it, needing the tactile memory, the anchor. Always there, even when she didn't realize it – Lee was the thing that kept her sane and in this world._

_She had a feeling he was the reason she came back in the first place. She kissed his temple, running her hands down his back. Between one instant and the next, she felt it, the shift of realization. She had to go and he couldn't come with her…again. It wasn't fair – he never got to come along. _

_Kara hated that she was going to do this to him, abandon him again. But she had to, for all of them. She breathed against his ear, "I have more to do." _

_He nodded and spoke softly, "You're leaving again." _

_She noticed that there was no objection, no recrimination in his voice. He accepted and believed that she needed to do whatever it turned out to be. She gripped his hair and used it to turn his head, staring into his eyes, "Kara Thrace loves Lee Adama."_

_He kissed her hard, as if in reward, "Lee Adama loves Kara Thrace." He eyed her face closely, "I can't come with you, can I?"_

_She shook her head, "You need to be here, I need to be there. We will see each other again, eventually."_

_He quirked his lip, "It never is the right time for us, is it?"_

_He watched as a shadow of the 'Starbuck grin' ghosted across her face, "One way or another, we will have our time."_

* * *

Somehow, she was stuck with Raptor duty. Instead of being pissed, it seemed to suit whatever her direction was. She needed that Raptor and its jump drive. It probably scared the frak out of the Laird that she wasn't tearing his head off, but that was immaterial right now.

Her senses almost seemed to place her above the strange feeling on the deck. Everyone walked around in a daze, like the worlds had been obliterated again. Maybe, for them, they had been. Her eyes flicked around the utterly familiar deck, no longer feeling so lost. Every step she took toward her mysterious destination cleared the fog from mind and the apathy from her movements.

She needed to get into open space or at least into the damn thing without an ECO in the fat bird with her.

* * *

The Gods must love her. Confusion, apathy, and incompetence of the Deck staff combined to get her into a Raptor without an ECO. Numbers were streaming through her head and she was inputting them as quickly as she could comprehend them. Ignoring the hails of the Viper pilots around her she put in the last few calculations and glanced up through the window. The whole fleet was suspended in the void of space. Her gaze shifted to gaze at the planet that was supposed to be their promised land. From here, it was perfect and pristine. It looked like home.

A shudder racked her body – and she felt the knowledge that home was close, very close. All she needed to do was get there. She was tempted to say something – let the Old Man or Roslin know, but they wouldn't believe her.

She could feel it through previous conversations - the absolute trust was gone. Not that Roslin ever really trusted her, but the Admiral had. Her eyes stung and she took a shuddering breath – he had until this.

They were not ready to go where she was going, but she would see them all again - even Roslin. The tough old broad would live long enough to see…whatever she was going to see.

She leaned back and closed her eyes, pushing the jump button blind. The pull in her belly told her when it happened and when she opened her eyes she was looking at another planet, this one also blue and green and brown. She felt herself frown, she noticed a scattering of pink too. That was…different.

* * *

Madif Caldi hated the night shift in the observatory. It was busy work more than anything, but everyone had to pull one a month so he dealt with it. It could be worse, he could be stuck working closer to the war zone. Then again, the war wasn't going so well for the Spartans.

News of the recent Gaian victory over the combined Spartan/Hive force had bolstered his Lady's alliance with Svensgaard and Aki-Zeta significantly. He yawned widely, jaw popping. He shook his head; politics weren't his thing…let Lady Deidre deal with it. She was damn good at it.

A warning beep jerked him awake only moments after closing his eyes. He blinked blurrily to clear his vision and stared at the screen, perplexed. It looked like an orbital transmitter, about the same size…but that was right. This appeared out of nowhere and was not on any manifests (public or covert) that the computer recognized.

He yanked a wall transmitter to his mouth, "Get me someone with level six classified clearance. I need a look at intelligence on the newest enemy satellites. We have an unidentified bogie on radar." He hung up after receiving an affirmative.

* * *

"Retrieve it, now. I want not one of the other faction leaders to know of this before I am ready for them to." Deidre held a high-resolution scan of the object, a ship of an unknown configuration, taken only 54 minutes ago.

A well-manicured finger tapped the glass of her desk thoughtfully. "It has made no aggressive moves? No signal, nothing?"

"No Lady, nothing. It's just sitting there." Madif rubbed the back of his neck absently, "Prelim scans show a material we've never seen and none of our scanning technology can penetrate it. We've tried targeting the window with marginal success, there _might _be someone in there - we aren't sure."

She quirked an eyebrow at him and glanced at her assistant, Lindly, "Get it down. Raise Aki-Zeta and Svensgaard on the holo communicator. And make sure this doesn't get beyond we five on this base."

Lindly nods, "As the Lady wishes."

* * *

Deidre watched, fascinated as this odd ship was taxied into the secure landing bay. "I want every part of that ship analyzed." She paused and tilted her head, "Make sure that everything stays working though – it probably contains technology that is new to us."

The affirmative answer was murmured quietly, followed by retreating footsteps.

Her gaze sharpened as the hatch of the ship opened. A figure stepped out, hands in the air. She felt her lip quirk, smart move on their part.

"Lindly, I want them examined, thoroughly."

"Yes Lady."

* * *

Kara couldn't stopped her awed gaze from traveling over everything it caught. From the rifles and armor the marines had, to the structures she managed to see on her way here. She was pretty sure the scanner they put her in would make Cottle drool. They didn't even make her take off her flight suit during the scan.

She wasn't sure what she was expecting from the rest of their tests, maybe some needles and other assorted poking but all they did was the scan, then stuck her in a room with a view of the sky. She lay on the floor, staring at the blue tinted with a vague pink. The sun was clearly visible and she could feel the warmth through the glass.

Not bad digs.

* * *

"Lady, a full scan has been completed. Mild mineral and vitamin deficiencies, a few old broken bones, some chemical imbalances – probably caused by prolonged lack of vitamin D. She's also about a week pregnant." The tech paused, looking indecisive.

"What else Dr. McPhie?"

"I would have to do more detailed scans, a full work up on her genome…but I am nearly certain she is a transcend. Naturally occurring."

Deidre blinked with surprise, "No evidence of genetic engineering?"

"No lady and no evidence of selective breeding either."

Deidre couldn't help the shock that was traveling through her body. This was…it was supposed to be impossible. Transcends, those with the DNA that opens the gate for super human intelligence and strength, did not occur naturally. Only after hundreds of years of genetic manipulation and carefully monitored selective breeding programs had the allied factions been able to _begin _producing transcends.

"What about the child?"

"It's too early to safely scan the child. However…a naturally occurring Transcend for a mother? There is a good chance that it will develop along those lines as well."

She eyed the doctor critically, "Doctor, if you speak a word of this to anyone – including your wife, you will face severe consequences. Understood?"

He swallowed nervously, "Yes Lady." He cleared his throat, "I have prescribed her a vitamin regiment that should bring her levels back to normal and support optimal fetal growth."

"And…?"

"Well, what are we supposed to do if she doesn't want to take them? Should we slip them to her or force…"

Deidre shook her head, "Try to get her to take them willingly – but no subterfuge. I want her absolute trust. She is too valuable to piss off."

* * *

"As far as I can tell, she is speaking a variant of ancient Greek. I'm not linguist and I barely remember my classics from grammar school so I can't be positive, but it sounds about right." Annalee shrugged, "I can recommend a few people that would be more capable of figuring out how to communicate with her. Most of them are researchers up at Uni Base."

"Hm, I have a feeling that Zakharov is going to make my life interesting over this little favor."

Annalee shrugged, "The woman I am thinking of calling up is half Gaian, one of the security officers stationed at Uni Base after you and the Academician signed your pact. She probably would be happy to come."

Deidre quirked an eyebrow at her, "Who is it?"

"Dr. Irene Fedotov – she's young but she knows her ancient languages. She also has a couple of degrees in psychology and sociology. Might be useful for learning about the woman's culture. Since we are hoping that there are more of them…we are hoping for that right?"

Deidre mentally rubbed her head and sighed in exasperation (_It -would- be Fedotov_), but outwardly just nodded, "Unquestionably. New blood in our faction is badly needed."

* * *

Being babbled at by several different people didn't make her the happiest camper in the world, but she got the general impression they weren't going to execute her anytime soon. And they had real food. Fresh fruits and vegetables, and MEAT. Kara was almost positive that this was Elysium. They fed her until she groaned and then they brought in ice cream.

Kara wasn't sure how, but as soon as she caught sight of it – her stomach made room. She gobbled down two bowls of it before she finally was so full she couldn't move. She breathed lustily, patted her full stomach and went back to gazing up at the sky. Dusk was falling and it cast interesting colors across the sky – everything tinged pink and orange. She liked it though – it was awkward and unique and wonderful.

"Damn Lee would _love_ this_._"

She heard the automatic door slide open again and a man, dressed like the one that had stuck her in the strange scanner walked in. He held up what looked like a prescription bottle and shook it for her. Then, in slow motions, she presumed to make sure she saw everything, shook a pill out and swallowed it himself. He then offered it to her.

She quirked an eyebrow at him and shook her head, no way was she taking anything – not until someone could tell her what it was.

* * *

I love the game – you all should go out and buy it. Any questions about it – ask me, I can clear up confusion.

I hope you enjoyed – please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

BIG thanks toUberscribbler for poking and prodding me to write this chapter.

Enjoy!

* * *

Lindley stepped into a classroom walled with windows that looked out over the many smooth domes of the University Base – The University's largest, most populace base. The suns glittered over the faux gold dome of the tallest tower, sprinkling light falling over seats filled with students.

Lindley eyed the occupants the quietly typing students with interest. According to the department coordinator, Dr. Fedotov did not teach but often proctored exams for her fellow faculty members and gave the occasional guest lecture. The woman was at the front of the classroom reading an actual book – the old-fashioned kind made with plant pulp. Such things were a rarity – it was strange that she was allowed to so casually handle it.

The dossier Annalee put together on Dr. Irene Fedotov gave the profile of a brilliant young woman, passionate about classical languages and cultures. She claimed Gaian citizenship once she reached the age of majority but chose to live at University Base to have access to rare Earth documents stored in the archives. Physically fit and well schooled in mixed martial arts – winning several exhibitions and blooded competitions, she was of average height for the Gaian faction, around 1.5 meters, but considered tall for most other factions. Black hair she kept in a long plait, tan skin, and brown eyes in an appealing but average face.

Lindley allowed her gaze to sweep over the assembled students and noticed that two in particular were acting suspiciously. The more she watched the two students, the more certain she was that they were cheating. Her gaze moved to the doctor, noting that she wasn't paying attention. Her estimation of Dr. Fedotov dropped.

Lindley crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall, waiting for the period to end. Five minutes before the end of the period she watched Dr. Fedotov carefully close the book and glanced up. "Mr. Lu and Mr. Soroka, I need to speak with both of you before you leave."

The two young men that had been cheating glanced up nervously. Lindley couldn't help a small smirk. Perhaps Fedotov wasn't so oblivious after all.

The students began to trickle out of the classroom as each finished. They cast furtive glances at Lindley as they past her. As Lady Skye's personal assistant, Lindley was rarely seen outside of Gaia's Landing. Her presence was enough to cause discomfort. Lindley was a 'problem solver'. No one wanted to be the sort of problem that drew Lindley's attention.

The last student, aside from the cheaters, finally stepped out of the classroom and the door swung shut. She stayed in place. She thought to observe Irene Fedotov - wanted to get a better feel for Fedotov and her personality.

Lindley noticed that Fedotov flicked a glanced in her direction, "Much as I would like to appease your curiosity Ms. Mahon – this is a matter of privacy." Lindley crossed her arms and didn't move. Irene Fedotov tilted her head, quirking an eyebrow, "As well as law. And even you are not above the law. Please leave. I will meet with you momentarily."

Lindley paused for a moment, deciding whether this woman would be stubborn about her presence. She forced herself to relax and step out of the room. Deidre wanted Fedotov to help with the strange woman currently residing at Gaia's Landing. She got the feeling that pissing her off wasn't the way to secure her cooperation.

---

Kara felt like she had rammed her head against the wall, more than once. Staring at the strange squiggles and slashes they called writing was giving her a major migraine. She shook her head and tried again but the jumble merely caused another spike of pain and her eyes to blur. It probably didn't help that she was starving…again.

She'd been at this since she woke up – and from the movement of the sun across the sky, that was a considerable amount of time. Problem was, she spoke modern Caprican and middle/modern Piconese and could read some Tauron if she had a gun to her head.

She really only needed to know Caprian – as most of her fellow Colonial citizens did, it was the official government language and the only language taught in schools. 'Lucky' her – Mama was native to Picon and spoke the local dialect.

This looked like ancient Gemenese – but not really…not that she would be able to tell beyond a wild guess. She flipped a page but the squiggles were no more legible on this page than the one before.

---

Lindley watched the two boys scuttle out of class, shoulders hunched and eyes downcast. Her eyes moved to the doctor as she stepped out of the classroom and closed the door quietly – sealing it until the next class was scheduled. Once done, she glanced toward Lindley's position.

"I am Dr. Irene Fedotov and you are Lindley Mahon." She smiled politely, "And I have the feeling I am about to be asked to perform a service for Lady Skye."

No nonsense – very good. "I am here to get a feel for you."

"Leads to the same result, a favor will be asked. Come, we can speak in my office with much more privacy." Fedotov nodded toward a bank of elevators that led to various parts of the campus.

Lindley allowed Fedotov to step into an elevator first then followed. Fedotov stood with her back to the door, gazing out over the complex. "Nice place." Lindley commented.

Lindley watched Fedotov smile slightly, "Not nearly as esthetically pleasing as the Gaian Agrarian College at the Flowers Preach, but it has its merits." She turned and examined Lindley carefully, "So what would the Lady need of a classical historian?"

The doors opened and Lindley's eyes slid toward the corridor, "Not a historian Dr. Fedotov, a linguist."

Fedotov's eyebrow quirked in curiosity but she refrained from asking questions in public, merely lead Lindley through the corridors of the Research Institute. Lindley had never been inside the Institute before and found it fascinating – and wondered how no one got lost. While the corridors and hallways were open and well lit – they tended to curve and turn when one least expected it. Very different from most Universities that were located in Gaian bases, which tended to be laid out in a circle with administrative offices and faculty residences at the center. The Research Institute had a more hodgepodge feel to it. As if it was cobbled together as needed.

After several minutes following Dr. Fedotov, Lindley was not sure if she would be able to easily find her way back to the entrance, but mentally shrugged. She would worry about it later.

Fedotov's office was near a small garden area currently in use - a group of students studying. The students paid them little attention as Fedotov scanned her hand to open the office. "You need a biometric security system for your office?"

Her comment elicited a bland look, "You should see some of the office security measures used by faculty engaged in the 'hard sciences'. University trained researches are not known for their wealth of academic ethics. It pays to be cautious."

The door swung open and Fedotov invited her in, "Please, have a seat. I was going to prepare some coffee. Would you care for some?" Fedotov pulled off her jacket and casually flung it to rest on a chair tucked into the corner.

Lindley shook her head, "I don't drink it. Thanks though."

Lindley watched Fedotov efficiently assemble her cup and turn back toward her. "So, tell me Ms. Mahon – what does Lady Skye need a linguist for?"

"Four days ago, a foreign ship appeared in the upper atmosphere. It was of an unknown configuration and material."

Lindley watched Fedotov set her cup down and blink several times, "From Earth?"

She shook her head, "Not really sure at this point. Aboard was a female speaking a language that we can only guess is a variant of ancient Greek. No one at Gaia's Landing has even the vaguest clue as to what she is saying."

Lindley watched Fedotov lean back and eye the ceiling thoughtfully, "Ancient Greek…that would be a challenge." She quirked her lips, "Complicated language…Four cases, three noun categories – not taking into account permutations from divergent evolution." Irene sat up and eyed Lindley, "So what do I get out of this?"

Lindley quirked an eyebrow, "The satisfaction of aiding your leader?"

Irene snorted, "You're not serious."

Lindley shrugged, "That is something you will have to discuss with Lady Skye – I was not authorized to discuss payment. Just extend the offer." The two women lapsed into silence as Irene leaned back to consider this interesting offer. It was a chance to get out of University Base – a long time dream, but she knew there would be a drawback. Lady Skye's reputation for being difficult to appease was well earned – she had high expectations for the people she appointed to a task.

Lindley let Fedotov mull the problem over with herself while she examined the office. It was tidy – everything had what she suspected was a specific place. It was almost Spartan – except for the odd slash of bright color, the scarlet curtains drawn away from the large window and the single piece of art in the room. It was a mandala of calm swirls of red, blue and yellow circling each other. It reminded her of the woman they were holding at Gaia's Landing…but not currently – more like it was a representation of a future self.

Fedotov was sitting back in her office chair, occasionally pushing against the floor to rock, "If I choose to do this there will be no interference with my work. I won't have everyone breathing down both the woman's and my own neck."

Lindley nodded, "Lady Skye will expect regular briefings on what you learn from the woman and you will be expected to reside with or near the woman for the foreseeable future."

Irene quirked an eyebrow, "I have to move in 9 days?"

"The project needs to get underway as quickly as possible. The reasons will be explained after you arrive. Lady Skye has arranged for a crew to quickly pack up your home and office and move it to quarters that will be provided at the Lady's expense. You will need a few days for briefings, a few medical tests, and interviews to upgrade your security level."

"This person must be very special."

Lindley smiled politely, "We think so." She stood, preparing to leave and motioned to the painting, "Interesting art work. Who is the artist?"

Irene glanced over and quirked her lip, "I am."

---

Kara wasn't sure what woke her up. The light filtering in through her windows was still soft – dawn was coming, everything was quiet. She shifted to sit up on the firm mattress, carefully folding the duvet cover down and stepped onto the carpeted floor.

She moved toward the corner floor to ceiling window and stood, gazing out across the area covered by the dome. The stars were beginning to fade as the light grew brighter, slowly illuminating the odd pink tint to the blue sky. She liked it. It seemed to suit her idea of what a sky should be, more than Caprica ever did.

She knelt carefully and let her head fall back against the wall gently. Her eyes closed and she prayed quietly for several minutes. She prayed to give thanks, for penance, and for her people. As she usually did, she named Lee and William Adama explicitly in her prayers. But today she included Felix Gaeta. She wasn't sure why or how she knew, she just knew that he needed divine guidance today.

As usual, her prayers were interrupted by the whirring of the outer doors that led to the rest of the facility – separating her from the rest of the base. These people were good at figuring out when she was out of bed. Probably had her under close surveillance.

Kara sighed and stood up. She made her way to what she was calling the great room – a spacious, elegantly decorated space filled with simple and comfortable furniture. She was used to having these strangers visit her but it was limited to the same four or five people. This woman was new.

She stood only slightly shorter than herself, trim and attractive. She had rich, dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. And Kara felt the need to tread carefully. Reminded her of Roslin actually.

---

Deidre Skye was not sure why she was here at all. She could not explain this need to see this woman, who was possibly an alien. She wasn't sure what she expected but…not this. Deidre made it a point to not surprise easily and she rarely allowed herself the luxury of intrigue any more – the primary reason her liaison with Svensgaard continued – her one allowance in that regard. This woman, this transcendent however – captured her attention. In the 11 days the woman had been on the base, Deidre had forced herself to stay away.

The blonde-haired woman stood only a few inches taller than herself and had an interesting face. Her body was obviously one of a warrior with various tattoos that several anthropologists were currently studying for possible meanings. Deidre studied her closely and in turn was studied with equal care.

"I wanted to personally welcome you to Chiron – to Planet." She motioned to herself, "I am Deidre Skye."

The blonde tilted her head slightly, taking in the words but the look of confusion was answer enough. So Deidre merely smiled and motioned to the food that was laid out on the table, "Join me." She murmured as she easily settled at one of the two place settings.

---

Kara watched the strange, intimidating woman as she moved to sit at the table. The words were garbled and strange. Only one made sense – 'Chiron', the Kobolian Lore giver. Half-man, half-horse - he had taught both the gods and mortals wisdom and technology. She frowned. It was odd – there were times where she almost understood what they were talking about and other times, like this one, where she knew she was missing something.

It didn't seem like the woman was trying to start a conversation on the legends of ancient Kobol. And she got the feeling the second part of that statement was her name…maybe, possibly. She rolled her eyes at herself, she wasn't sure of Gods damn thing.

Kara took her seat across from the woman and examined the food before her. Most of the foods given to her were similar, if not the same, as what was available on the Colonies before the fall. Every once in a while though, there would be something that stumped her.

Today there was a deep red berry with strange pits with tiny seeds on the surface. She picked it up carefully and flicked her gaze to the other woman. She seemed to relish the new food, quickly eating the four on her plate.

Kara held it up, "What the frak is this?" Kara was sure that, while the woman hadn't understood the actual words, she got the meaning well enough.

---

Deidre couldn't help a small smile as she watched the other woman eye the false fruit with suspicion. "It's called a strawberry." She quickly popped the last of her own strawberries into her mouth.

She repeated the word a few times before taking a small bite – testing it. She chewed it carefully for a moment before her eyes widened. The strawberries disappeared from her plate quickly after that.

---

The rest of the meal passed in silence, which was just fine with Kara. This woman was too much like the President for her to be truly comfortable having a casual breakfast. Once they were both finished, the woman stood and motioned Kara toward the exit.

She glanced down at her clothes and shrugged – probably time for another exam. She kinda missed Cottle during those; at least he was entertaining while he was experimenting.

---

Irene's quarters were plush. Way better than the faculty apartments at Uni Base. According to Lindley, the woman (the 'project') resided in the apartment across from her own. She was sure she could have figured that out herself, what with the guards and such.

Her gaze moved around the room, taking in her possessions scattered about. She had a briefing in an hour and several medical exams after that. She shook her head – still needed to read up on this woman, the circumstances of her arrival, and what interaction had already taken place…and perhaps find time to settle in and sleep – though she wasn't hopeful about the last two.

…Still better than being back at University Base…

A soft chime preceded the whirring of the door opening. Lindley and Lady Skye stepped into the room and allowed the door to slide shut. Lady Skye immediately made her way toward Irene, "Dr. Fedotov – I thank you for your service – I would love to give you more time to settle in and rest, but time is of the essence."

"Why?"

She watched Lady Skye blink at her, "I want the woman speaking and understanding Planet Standard by the next Planetary Council meeting."

Irene's eyebrows rose, "Seven months? You don't ask for much, do you?"

Lady Skye's smile was sharp and devoid of all humor, "You will also serve as her companion, educator, and body guard for the time being." Skye's head lifted slightly and, though she was shorter, still managed to look down at her, "You will be briefed on the various reasons later today, but suffice it to say – we are reasonably sure this woman is not of Earth origin and could possibly draw the ire of the more conservative factions."

Skye left little time for a retort, swiftly leaving Lindley in the room – holding an eight-inch stack of data pads, "Study up on these Doctor. First briefing in an hour." She set the pads down on the stack of boxes closest to her and vacated the room as well.

Irene really wished she had a place to collapse on dramatically – without hurting herself…It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Please, please, PLEASE review! I need to know what you think and if I am wasting my time and energy or not.

It's easy, really - just point and click.


	3. Chapter 3

Big, HUGE thanks go out to my co-author and beta reader, Uberscribbler. He helped me get this chapter off the ground, shaped up, and ready for reading. ((Applause)) Seriously, without his input, I am not sure when (or if) this chapter would have finished up.

(And it would not have been nearly as good)

As always, we are not making any money from this story.

_---_

_**Author's Note:**_

_1) Colonial is italicized;_ Ancient Greek is underlined (I don't speak/can't write it – sorry!); Everything else is regular font

---

**Chiron Timekeeping**

Because Chiron has a tilt of just 2 degrees on its axis (versus Earth's 23.45), days and nights on Planet are evenly spaced in terms of duration. However, while the 18-hour (really 17.53, but who's counting) days on Chiron are measured within Terran-standard second-minutes-hours sequences, each colonial faction expresses it in slightly different fashion.

For example: the Spartan Federation uses the military construct of four digits running from 0001 to 1859 Hours to mark the progress of a day. The Lord's Believers, with their emphasis upon Western European Canonical traditions and frameworks, organize their daily routines according to seven 'hours' of prayer (_Matins, Lauds, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers, Compline)_, each measuring between one hundred and fifty to one hundred and sixty minutes of 'real' time. The Cult of Planet has constructed an elaborate calendar based upon the ecology of Planet itself, marking the progress of a day by the 'Moment' of a specific native lifeform's daily activity (_Moment of the Locust Swarm_, _Moment of Sealurk's Surfacing_, etc.).

Gaia's Stepdaughters, being influenced by the late-20th century Wiccan tradition, marks the time of day by a one to nine tolling of an iron bell. The Gaians further divide the day between 'Low' and 'High' periods, Low being the morning and High being daytime. Thus "Six Bells Low" refers to a period during the sixth hour of the morning period (one hour after dawn, which is consistently at Five Bells Low). The division between the Low and High periods is the point of the 'day' when Alpha Centauri A is at its apex in the daylight sky.

---

**8:40 Hours  
President's Office, Colonial One **

It had taken just fourteen short days for everything to fall apart after they left Earth behind, although few saw the full picture developing.

Lee Adama - like the rest of the fleet - caught only glimpses of it; this was understandable given he was simply too distracted between managing the Quorum in the face of Roslin's ongoing seclusion aboard _Galactica_, his father's continued downward spiral, and constantly managing the fallout from Zarek pushing everyone's buttons, and working flat out to reassure both his people and the Cylons that the other side wasn't about to launch a pre-emptive attack on them. All this on top all the other small matters required in keeping some semblance of a government running.

His one consolation was that Kara was nowhere near any of this. It was to the point where he'd gotten a couple prayer tokens reminiscent of hers and took to praying nightly for her safety. In fact, those moments were the only times he allowed his thoughts to drift in her direction. This was primarily out of self-preservation, as Lee knew that if he let himself think too much about her being out there, alone...he'd either hijack a Raptor and go searching for her himself, or quite possibly eat the barrel of a gun rather than continue to live with that gapping hole in his soul she'd left behind.

He didn't care wherever she was; all that mattered was that she was somewhere safe and secure – even if it involved her being pleasured every waking minute by a harem of Anders-look-a-likes. He'd deal with said harem when they finally caught up to her.

Such precarious impulses were fleeting, but there all the same, and all the more dangerous for how often they surfaced. Hence his throwing himself into the role of _pseudo-_President of the Colonies, working himself to the bone to make sure there was a fleet left to reach wherever they were heading. Another reason to be grateful for her absence: it gave him an external goal, something wholly beyond his everyday madness, to focus on.

Well, that, and the coffee the rebel's basestar managed to synthesize for them. It tasted godsawful and was fast becoming the only thing he'd drink.

The day had begun about as badly as he could imagine. Zarek's fear mongering to the Quorum, on top of his not-so-subtle encouraging the tyllium tanker and its cohorts to jump off on their own, were creating fractures within the fleet faster than Lee could paper them over. The stories of the Old Man having strong armed Zarek to get the location of the tanker weren't helping either.

And now the Vice President suddenly reappearing on Colonial One, tearing open those fissures by his presence alone, was nearly enough to have Lee tearing his hair out. Galactica abruptly 'going dark' that morning was, for the moment, known to only a few aboard Colonial One; it unnerved Lee that Zarek himself knew it.

Pulling the desk-phone off its cradle, Lee dialed the landing deck and requested they hold the Raptor that had shuttled Zarek over. He needed Roslin over here and was perfectly ready to drag her out of his father's cabin by her wig if that's what it took.

---

**8:55 Hours  
Battlestar **_**Galactica**_**  
Small Arms Locker B-05 **

_None of the would-be mutineers noticed the young woman peeking around the door's threshold. She might have seemed passingly familiar to some, but most would have been more alarmed __to know someone was observing them__. Just as well she quickly moved back to the Senior Pilots bunkroom, going to a specific locker and retrieving a familiar gun belt and the numerous ammo clips stashed there. _

_As a private indulgence, she also donned the zip-hoodie that hung there; offering__ a silent prayer to the gods none of the other pilots had dared intrude in there in the owner's absence, that this once they'd forgone the tradition of auctioning off a lost pilot's possessions. __P__erhaps they were all simply too scared of what would happen when that pilot returned and found her personal domain rifled through. __Regardless, the woman was grateful for their restraint. _

_She even took a moment to stare at the picture taped to the inside of the door: two men and a woman, all three young and smiling. The urge to take the picture down was…strong, but she resisted it. _

_Shutting the locker as quietly as possible, the figure exited the room and sprinted for the flight deck. There was somewhere she needed to be, fast. _

---

**9:02 Hours  
Landing Deck – Checker Green **

"You're saying you've still lost all communication?" Lee Adama wondered when it had gotten so easy addressing, of all people, Racetrack in such a way. Racetrack, for gods' sake. The next thing you knew, he'd be joining Tigh for drinks at Joe's and -- well, who knew what would happen next? He'd been in the proverbial doghouse since Kara vanished out from under everyone; the Quorum seemed to be the only place he was even half-welcome anymore.

These thoughts - along with a muttered query of "What's going on here?" - ended with a very solid fist connecting with his gut. _Idiot_ he cursed himself as he was strong-armed by the Marines who'd been waiting there, making him face the shifty-eyed civilian who'd been waiting there. Realization came in a rush: _communications blackout, Zarek being cagier than ever, encouraging ships to go off on their own, what'd you think __was going on__!_

"Listen," Lee managed to choke out. "Whatever you're doing - you're making a mistake…"

"Oh, sure," the civilian snickered. It was only then Lee noticed he was wearing a Kevlar vest and gun belt. "We're confused. Maybe we should have a trial, huh?" He nodded to the Marine over his shoulder, who promptly pulled his sidearm and lined up on Lee's head. "After everything they've done, did you think we'd just accept an alliance with those toasters?"

_Frak frak frak!_ Was all Lee would think, clarity coming in what he was sure were his last moments. _Kara! Kara, I'm sorr –_

BAM! The single shot echoed through the cavernous landing deck, causing Lee to flinch on instinct. It took exactly five breaths after that for him to realize (a) he wasn't dead, (b) he was wearing some of his would-be killer's blood on his face, and (c) said would-be killer lying as a twitching heap at his feet. Everyone was looking at the far end of the deck, where a solitary figure stood, arm outstretched and holding a smoking pistol. Despite the ringing in his ears lingering from the echo, Lee could hear the words the figure spoke easily.

"Death is easy, but no fun. Trust me on this." Lee tried to identify the figure, but couldn't see past the trademark double-gun belt resting snug around athletic hips, or the equally familiar hoodie zipped only half-way up a lean torso.

"Let him go," his rescuer ordered.

"Frak you," spat Skulls, only to get a bullet in the shoulder for the trouble.

"I can keep doing this all day. Who's next?!" Everyone was frozen in place, save Lee, who easily pulled free of the last Marine and sprinted towards the figure. The face that greeted him was familiar -- yet -- not.

"We've got to get outta here," he told her, trying to summon some small measure of authority. The woman didn't meet his eyes or even acknowledge this beyond a short nod.

She instead addressed the party by the Raptor. "Follow us. Please!" She then turned and all but pushed him ahead of her, doing so with such surprising strength Lee found himself nearly stumbling off his feet entirely. His rescuer gripped his forearm, steadying him even as she dragged him to safety in a dry storage bay.

No quicker were they through it than his companion was pushing a stack of crates against it, doing so with one hand and showing not the slightest strain for it. "Frak me," Lee hissed, trying to process what just happened. "Racetrack? Skulls? I flew with those guys!" It immediately hit him how ridiculous the sentiment sounded; hadn't he been the one to hand in his wings, to leave the military behind? He wasn't so old that he didn't recall similar feelings of betrayal when one or two of his fellows decided not to re-up their commissions back before the attacks.

His rescuer gave a throaty chuckle in the dim lighting as she un-holstered the second weapon and ejected the clip. "Yang was right: loyal friends or loyal subordinates, but not both." She said this with such off-hand disgust it reminded him of…no. No it couldn't be…

"Kara?" The woman's shoulders tensed and movements stilled. Lee stepped closer and pulled her into what little light the locker offered. No, it wasn't…wasn't her. This person looked…younger than Kara, not to mention a couple fingers shorter, and had hair a few shades darker that brushed her shoulders…all of which could have been because of the poor light and her being visibly barefoot.

Except that…there was no mistaking those eyes, or that aggressive tilt of the head.

Except that…her cheekbones were too prominent. And her nose was…rounder.

Except that….no-one else could mimic that hard-set to the jaw.

Except…except…

Lee realized he could go on and on detailing these seeming contradictions and get nowhere. He therefore settled on the one piece of proof he was dead certain would answer everything. Grabbing the woman by the arms, he brought their lips together…and froze at the unfamiliar feel of her.

The woman…the girl…didn't kiss back. If anything, she turned completely to stone in his hands. Lee couldn't tell if it was because of shock or what, couldn't help feeling there was something profoundly wrong about this act. It felt like he was kissing his…his what? His sister? Niece? Daughter? He almost laughed at the thought.

The girl didn't push him away, but rather stood there and patiently waited for him to come back to his senses. Lee wouldn't have blamed her had she made use of the weapons in her hands. Instead she gave him an indecipherable look and muttered "Um…"

"Uh…sorry." It wasn't much of an apology, but then he wasn't of very sound mind to begin with.

"S'okay," she nodded. And was it his imagination or did she blush a bit?

"Who…who are you?"

"I'm here to help…you," she said, the last word almost an afterthought. Rather than elaborate, she offered him one of the guns, butt first. Lee took it automatically, ejecting the clip to ensure it was full, then shoving it back into the handle.

"Okay, fine. What's our move?" He asked this because, quite honestly, he still wasn't firing on all burners. It wasn't like the girl would have any ideas of her own, but he needed a minute to get his brain working again.

She didn't disappoint there. "This is your ship, your pe…" Lee almost missed how she cut herself short, loudly clearing her throat. "Clearly we've got a mutiny here, right?"

"Right," Lee nodded. "So…they'll go for critical personnel first."

"The CO of the ship?"

"No, no. CIC is protected." An ugly thought hit him. "Frak. The President's on board here."

"Rose…Roslin, right?"

"Right." It would only occur to Lee later how his companion had mispronounced the President's name. "We need to get to her first."

The girl nodded sharply, not a gesture he would have attached to Kara and simply reinforced who she wasn't. Lee decided not to dwell on why that made him feel a bit better, and odder still, more confident about their chances. His companion pushed the crates she'd moved to block the door aside, and then opened the hatch. There was the distant echo of gunfire door the corridor already. Clearly, it hadn't taken long for things to collapse.

Lee spared a moment to pray for the souls that were going to be lost that day, for the safety of his father and the President and all those they depended upon, and lastly for the brave girl who'd come to his rescue.

Not once did it occur to him to hope for his own safety, some inner certainty having taken hold that he'd survive through this. Perhaps it was just plain madness, but he wasn't inclined to question it. Instead he embraced it.

Lee slid out of the locker and started down the hall, not needing to look back to know his companion shadowed his every step.

---

**Gaia's Landing, Chiron  
Day Fifteen  
Ninth Bell Low**

Irene's head pounded – throbbed really. She closed her eyes and twisted her neck until she felt her vertebrae pop, releasing the tension that had built up over the last few hours. The day had not started well – awakening after only a short three hours of sleep to be poked and prodded in what she termed the "physical from hell" followed shortly by a marathon mental examination that included deep hypnosis, a brain scan polygraph, and a long talk with a clinical psychologist. This was not what she imagined when she was summoned from University Base. Then again, she wasn't really sure what she HAD imagined – classical historians/linguists are rarely (if ever) needed for top secret research of any kind.

The next day wasn't much better. Dragged out of bed at an ungodly hour after only visiting said bed for a mere five hours was hard enough, but the interrogation that followed made a bad day much worse. At this point, she was sure that Lady Skye's security operatives knew everything, absolutely everything, there was to know about her life and everyone she had ever associated with.

At least she had been allowed a decent amount of sleep last night. Which was good because they decided it was absolutely necessary to confirm her credentials…by giving her a test. She couldn't help a small eye roll at the ridiculousness of such a thing. But she dutifully proved her expertise and corrected (with great relish) the 'proctors' of her oral examination.

Now she was finally getting to listen to what she would be doing. Her mission was simple: learn this strange woman's possibly Greek influenced language, teach her Planet Standard, and protect her as necessary. It actually sounded fascinating. Well, until you were forced to listen to a presentation about an irrelevant topic pertaining to the woman you are supposed to be interacting with.

She was sure that if she were a medical doctor, she would find the current presentation about the woman's uniquely structured muscle fibers wonderfully engaging. But she wasn't and she was really getting sick of paying attention to briefings that were, for her, a waste of time. She considered falling asleep with her eyes open – useful skill she learned during her doctoral work.

Suddenly, the absurdity of her situation struck her and she couldn't help a chuckle. The two men speaking at her exchanged perplexed glances before turning to her with enquiring expressions.

Irene merely smiled and stood. Over their half-hearted protests she left the cramped conference room and walked quickly down the hall to her assigned living quarters. As the door slid shut she turned her torso until the vertebra in her lower back popped satisfyingly. She dropped her data-pads on the nearest flat surface and quickly slipped out of her confining outfit.

A slow routine of stretching and simple yoga positions and her body was once again relaxed and limber. The mind calming routine allowed her to process several relevant facts she would need to consider in her work with the woman.

She went over those facts as she moved through a strenuous exercise routine. The woman was in the early stages of pregnancy, probably unaware of her gravid state. She was physically fit despite several injuries and lack of vital minerals and nutrients – probably an excessively active woman used to arduous activity and exercise. It would be Irene's first priority to inform her of her impending motherhood – regardless of what Skye wanted. Irene had a feeling the woman wouldn't find any favor in having the information withheld from her for any time span longer than absolutely necessary.

The woman's status as a naturally born Transcend would complicate Irene's job. Research suggested that Transcends could communicate non-verbally, but the communication was only coherent when the Transcend and their companions were carefully trained. The concept was further complicated by the revelation that very few minds were actually 'compatible'. No one could really figure out who would be compatible – very rarely could one Transcend connect with another unless they had a bond already.

So, though the woman may not be consciously aware of it – she was probably trying to communicate non-verbally with everyone she interacted with. Irene paused momentarily – perhaps her people all communicated, at least partially, in such a manner. She frowned, if that was true it would complicate her work. If, as a society, the woman's people had developed a language that incorporated both verbal and non-verbal communication - not just unspoken cues, but actual words – well she was going to have trouble learning to rely more heavily on the _spoken_ rather than the _unspoken _word.

Irene rated as a high-talent with signs of developing empathic tendencies. Part of her doctoral thesis research delved into non-verbal _cues. _But she was far from being able to actually communicate like a Transcend could. Such heavy reliance on non-verbal communication would make learning the woman's language that much more difficult.

Sweat slipped down her back, arms, and face as she summed up her daily routine. She felt much better – her mind was in order and her body comfortably loose and ready.

She showered, dressed and plaited her hair. As she nibbled on a snack as she dug through her boxes for reference materials. Though she was sure she knew a lot about Classical cultures, it never hurt to be prepared for the small possibility that this woman might throw her something out of left field.

---

**Gaia's Landing ****High Security Apartments, Section F  
Third Bell High**

Kara started sharply, nearly upsetting her balance enough to tumble off the couch. She blinked several times to clear her blurred vision and the lethargy that always hit her when she took a daytime nap. The light was soft; Kara guessed it was heading into late-afternoon.

The soft whir of the opening door stirred her to roll over and glance toward the entrance. She caught sight of a tall woman amble in. She was cute, in a subtle-but-distinctly-kick-your-ass-if-you-misbehave sort of way; it half reminded Kara of Helena Cain, although lacking the cold-eyed tension that always seemed to be swirling inside the late Admiral. This newcomer carried several of the portable devices everyone that she had come in contact with seemed to always have – like cell phones before the Fall. Upon closer inspection, hers appeared to be a portable computer of some sort.

Kara eyed the newcomer with caution. New people made her uncomfortable, regardless of circumstances. This one however was a seemingly calming and friendly presence. The dark haired woman smiled pleasantly at her and moved gracefully toward the sitting area. She paused for a moment, obviously trying to decide where to sit in relation to Kara's current position. After a moment's hesitation she spread her tablets on the table directly across from Kara and settled on the opposite couch.

Kara watched the newest stranger glance across the spread of tablets, then look up with a probing expression. She wondered how the woman expected to get any meaningful answers out of her if she couldn't even remotely understand their written language.

"I welcome you to the planet Chiron. Your ship was retrieved approximately 14 days ago when it entered Gaian space. You were brought to our home base which is located on the eastern continent of Chiron's surface." She paused, as if waiting for Kara to recognize any words.

To her personal surprise, Kara did indeed recognize some of the words. Others were close enough to modern Caprican that she could cobble together a vague meaning to the statement.

---

Irene's hope was to elicit some recognition with her statement. From the look on the blonde woman's face, she succeeded – if only marginally. Still, it was more than Irene could have hoped for. With some understanding already present it would be much easier to learn her language and to teach the woman Planet Standard.

"'_Chiron' __was a lore-giver. He taught both man and the gods the secrets of technology._" The woman paused and tilted her head in thought, "Planet…_the _Planet _is __'Chiron'__, yeah?" _

Irene felt herself nod enthusiastically as she inputted the way the other woman had pronounced 'Chiron'. Very interesting that the word had not changed – merely a slight variance in intonation.

"Yes. Planet was settled nearly 130 years ago by what we surmise was the remnants of humanity…at least the humanity that evolved on Earth." Irene watched as the other woman again paused to process the sentence, particularly interesting was her reaction to Earth's mention.

"_My people, _humans, _were searching for _Earth. _We found a ruined _planet."

Irene tapped one of her pads against the table thoughtfully. The woman's use of the word 'human' was interesting – something Lady Skye would be interested in at least. Irene was more intrigued by what she could understand of her statement. Humans, searching, Earth, found, planet; it was a leap perhaps, but Irene concluded this woman's people had recently visited Terra. Judging by her tone and non-verbal cues, it had proved a disappointment.

Irene wanted to dig deeper, but forced herself to slow down. They needed basics right now. "I think we are getting ahead of ourselves.My name is Irene Fedotov. I will be spending a lot of time with you for a while." She extended her hand in what she hoped was interpreted as a friendly gesture.

The blonde pointed at Irene and repeated her name with a questioning modulation. Irene nodded, hand still extended. The blonde woman returned the greeting with a firm, no-nonsense handshake, "Kara Thrace."

---

Over the course of the next few hours, Irene was able to piece together the woman's various statements into a coherent sort of message. Her language was truly fascinating in its strange mixture of ancient Greek and various Slavic languages, particularly a precursor to Bulgarian.

Irene was getting the hang of it all relatively quickly despite lacking a solid background in the Slavic languages. While they both could understand the general meaning behind each other's statements, finer details were going to take awhile. The idiom that riddled Standard was likely going to be especially problematic, given it would take a lot of explaining for Kara to understand the context involved.

A major bright spot was that Kara now knew that she was going to be a mother, something she was positively ecstatic about. From the initial look of confusion, Irene got the feeling that Kara had thought she _couldn't_ conceive to begin with; she'd even greeted the news with what was clearly a prayer of thanks. The silent homage to whatever divine entity/s this woman worshiped seemed infinitely more reverent than anything either Sister Miriam or Cha Dawn's followers routinely wailed in their respective temples.

Mindful of Lady Skye's expectations, Irene had confirmed that there were a number of Kara's people running around in space, doing so in the company of another faction; Kara was cautious when talking about them, referring to them as "toasters". Irene was sure she misheard this, but it was clear that while they were at least allies to Kara's people, Kara herself didn't much care for them. She'd also been able to tease out information that Kara's people were probably not nearly as technologically advanced as any of the factions. Her reactions to simple devices that many of Planet's population took for granted was evidence enough, but Irene was able to ask some more directed questions about defenses and such.

Irene mentally shrugged off her initial disappointment. Lady Skye had made it clear that Kara herself was valuable enough, irregardless of any technological advances her people might bring to Planet. Kara's DNA and possibly her entire people's genome held the key to creating a greater number of talents, empaths, and even _Transcendi_.

Their discussion was interrupted by the arrival of dinner at Six Bells High. Actually, you could say Kara ended it completely as she practically bolted toward the food and completely ignored the fact that anyone else was in the room.

Irene knew their visitor been fed on the regular since arriving, and more importantly her diet was being carefully regulated to maximize her body's recovery. Even so, Irene was mildly shocked to see anyone so enthusiastic over a simple plate of steak, potatoes, and soy beans. She made a mental note to query Kara about what kind of food she and her people had been subsisting on.

It hit her as she tossed one of her data pads onto a nearby table and stood up to head in the same direction. Thrace…_Thráki_.Irene slapped her forehead at her stupidity. Of course her language was similar to ancient Greek and Slavic languages – a whole damned region in the Agean carried her name! The implications of that were…well, colossal didn't _begin_ to cover it.

Kara was eyeing her cautiously from the table so Irene forced herself to relax and let the possible history changing revelation go. For now.

---

**12:20 Hours  
Battlestar **_**Galactica**_**  
Corridor Echo-Green  
Outside Cylon Containment Cell**

Lee was thankful his companion was a cool one, given the number of skirmishes they'd had to by-pass and the number of bodies lying in the corridor. It sometimes felt as if they'd been wading through a sea of terror, rather than simply sneaking their way through the halls of a starship. Shadow – as his brain had named his companion – hadn't so much as flinched at any of it. She'd even taken to throwing the odd glare his way, as if he was the one slowing them down.

Not that he could see how things could have moved any faster. Between their retrieving Roslin, getting Baltar of all people to shelter them, linking up with his father and Tigh, heading off again to retrieve Helo and others, all happening in the space of barely three hours was enough to make his frakking head spin out.

The one complaint he had about Shadow herself was her weird tendency to go charging off on her own. This hadn't put them in any jeopardy; if anything, the odd moments she chose to go vanishing around corners kept them from getting ambushed by some of Gaeta's supporters. It was annoying more than anything, especially given how Roslin, the Old Man and everyone else seemed to think he was on his own doing all this.

At that moment, it was just the two of them, crouched in the shadows and studying the movements of the guards. There'd been noise aplenty over the comms: claims that the Old Man had been taken prisoner again, that a trial would be held, that the basestar had fled, that Laura Roslin had defected, that Roslin had been killed fleeing _Galactica_; and so on and one lie on top of another.

Lee had simply tuned it all out, although Shadow had gotten inexplicably tense. "Frakers," Shadow sub-vocalized, her vehemence and tone a perfect match for his own missing half. He put a restraining hand on her shoulder, and was relieved when he felt her relax under his touch. Lee felt oddly flattered that he could calm her with but a touch. If only Kara had been as easy to manage…

Lee frowned and studied the cell they hid near, noting again how it was the entire Agathon family in there, alongside Caprica and a clearly-worse-for-wear Anders. Nothing they hadn't already seen in the last ten minutes, and therefore no sign of what suddenly had the girl ready to spit bullets. He found himself grinning at the image and silently passed her the sidearm he'd had shoved into his waistline, which Shadow accepted without looking while he readied the rifle they'd liberated from one of the dead.

"On three," she breathed, sounding as natural and gentle as a summer's breeze. "One…two…three."

They stood in perfect tandem, weapons up and firing with barely a pause to aim. Lee took down the Kevlar-vested Marine across the room, while Shadow hung back, firing her two automatics cross-armed and dealing with the rest of the guards. The prisoners had all gone prone the second the firing started, remaining so even when Lee opened the door and called "Move it!"

Athena had to help an unsteady-Helo out, with Caprica herding a subdued Hera after them, and Anders bringing up the rear and swaying with every step. Lee was about to step forward to help him when he heard Shadow's cry of "Down!"

Lee dropped on instinct as a several shots rang out. Anders jerked once and collapsed, blood spraying from the back of his head. Shadow was suddenly there, one hand pressing against the wound while firing carefully picked shots blind with the other. She spared a sharp glance towards Lee and barked "Go! Save them and your father. Go!"

He found himself obeying, almost unconscious of doing so. Thoughts about the wounded man he left behind faded in the face of herding his shipmates to safety, and from there, finding his father and making damn sure this madness ended.

---

**15:10 Hours**  
**CIC, **_**Galactica **_

It was almost anticlimactic in how the mutiny ended. All the 'heavy lifting' had been done by the Old Man and Roslin; the former simply marched into CIC leading an ever growing mass of loyal supporters and ordered everyone to stand down, while the President herself was aboard the Cylon's basestar and just scared everyone to death with her bellowed statement, "I'm coming for all of you!" The news of Zarek ordering the Quorum be gunned down spreading like wildfire seemed to sap all momentum among Gaeta's supporters and his following collapsed.

Lee suspected the Quorum had likely had been the deciding factor. Executing captive skinjobs and so called 'traitors' were one thing; simply shooting the entire government leadership was a bit too much for even most bloodthirsty among them. Even Gaeta had looked sickened and all too ready to give up.

To his private surprise, Lee hadn't felt the least inclined to advocate for the mutineers, a bitter irony given he'd half-agreed with their many of their stated objections to begin with. Maybe the sheer number of casualties being reported throughout the ship had simply numbed him to the point of disinterest.

He stayed in the CIC, ostensibly coordinating the clean-up and recovery operations. The truth was he was too exhausted and too muddled to risk trying to go anywhere. In his state, there was every chance he'd walking into a wall or fall down a ladder. Whatever orders he was giving apparently were sufficient; Lee himself heard virtually none of it and couldn't quite focus beyond how bone-weary he was.

Eventually he was able to pull himself together enough pick up one of the comms hand-sets and dial up Life Station. "Let me talk to Cottle," was his terse-if-dull request. The CMO came on a moment later.

"_Apollo? That you?" _

It spoke to his exhaustion that he didn't correct Cottle on the use of his former call-sign, "Yeah."

"_Bill says you're in command up there."_

"Insofar as anyone is, yeah."

"_Frak, boy, you sound terrible. You injured anywhere?" _

"I'm…never mind." Lee shook himself and focused. "How bad is it down there?"

"_I've got fewer wounded than I'd like."_ Lee understood the implication perfectly; 'fewer wounded' didn't mean 'few casualties'. It just meant most of the latter were either already in or destined for body bags.

He had to force the next question. "Helo down there?"

"_He and his family. He's okay. Luckier than most."_

"Anders…Anders is…"

"_Is already down here. He's stable." _

"That it?"

"_He's comatose. I'm not confident about his long-term chances, Apollo." _

Lee could only sigh and say "Do what you can. I'll be down there soon. Try and have lists of casualties and needed supplies ready for me."

"_Understood."_

Lee cut the connection and turned attention back to the shuffling to and fro of the CIC. He offered a small prayer of thanks that Kara wasn't there to see all this. Gods alone knew how things would have played out had she been.

Sighing again, Lee Adama set such thoughts aside and concentrated on stitching back together what little of their world was left.

---

**Gaia's Landing  
High Security Apartments, Section F  
****Day Eighteen  
Between First and Second Bells Low**

Irene wasn't sure why she was suddenly wide awake and alert, staring at Kara's apartment ceiling. Over the past few days she had taken to just staying put – the long days of both learning a new language and teaching Kara was draining and slow going.

Classical Greek was proving an imperfect medium for communication, especially given Kara's hormonal instability leading her to curse in frustration at the oddest moments. "Frak" was fast becoming a familiar word for them, one she'd tack onto any number of everyday items that displeased her. Despite her initial fears about Kara's reliance on non-verbal language,they were making what she thought was decent progress so she wasn't going to bitch too loudly - even if she did end up spending more nights on Kara's sofa than in her own bed.

A slight shift in the darkness in her peripheral vision both answered her initial question and made her instinctively want to tense, to gasp, to do any number of things sure to alert all present she was awake…which was _not_ a great idea if that movement was what she thought it was. No one else should have beenin the room in the first place - never mind those with 'good' intentions wouldn't attempt such stealth.

Irene forced herself to remain in her currently prone position and wait, hoping she looked vulnerable enough to entice the intruder forward. The figure sneaking toward her must either have been incredibly confident in their abilities, or simply didn't know her background. Either way, they were going to pay for it.

She allowed the intruder to get unnervingly close to the sofa, occasionally moving as someone sleeping normally might. As expected, each movement on her part caused them to pause for several seconds. As the assailant neared, she would swear that she could almost feel the movement of the air caused by their hand extending down toward her. Irene managed to remain calm and relaxed throughout, ten years of martial arts training having drilled such responses deep into her bones.

She sensed the right moment to strike on instinct; her hand snapped outward independent of conscious thought and gripped the would-be attacker's forearm. Applying maximum pressure onto the limb, Irene pivoted herself smoothly and yanked her prey over the back of the coach, swinging herself over easily and leaping after them. Her elbow swept out and hit their throat, leaving them gasping and off balance, an easy target for the two sharp kicks and strong upper-cut that followed in a blur. She instinctively ducking under their wild slash with a knife, then rearranging the vertebrae of their upper spine with two strikes by her elbow.

Unlike the holo-vids and arena matches, Irene knew only too well that _real_ fights rarely lasted more than a couple blows; her intention was to wear down the intruder, wanting to tire them out and disable them. A chink and crash of breaking glass from Kara's room changed those plans, leading her to move in and snapping the second one's neck with a violent wrenching of their head.

As the body dropped she was bolting for Kara's bedroom door.

---

Kara's eyes slid open – her mind alert and ready as if turned on, rather than awakened. It was an odd feeling knowing that someone was coming to do something unpleasant to her. She wasn't sure she fully trusted the instinct, but she wasn't going to ignore it – not after the news Irene gave her two days ago about the recently-stalled war Lady Skye's people had going.

That instinct had her jumping out of bed and blindly dropping to the floor, sweeping her legs to trip her attacker. If the tactic worked on Lee, it would work on these stupid frakkers. The thud of a body three feet to her right confirmed the effectiveness of the move. She, again, moved as her instincts bade and smashed a nearby mirror. She picked up a sizable shard and threw it into the darkness of the far corner. A quiet squelch and thud of a body confirmed the accuracy of her aim.

Despite these initial successes, Kara knew the darkness was helping her attackers more than her, and so literally threw her body at the wall by the room's only door. She used her shoulder to hit the light switch by the threshold, shutting her eyes as the bedroom instantly flooded with light. There was a most satisfying groan of surprise as the last intruder stumbled and wrestled with what must have been the local version of IR Goggles.

Kara didn't give them the time to collect themselves, something close to raw panic having her seize the person by the head, trip them so they lay prone beneath her, and proceed to repeatedly ram their head into the floor with ever-escalating force.

She could distantly hear the sounds of a fight coming from the common room and figured Irene was holding her own – the woman was no push over. She banished thoughts of the other woman and concentrated on bringing this last frakker down.

It wasn't long before the head in her hands stopped sounding quite so _solid_ was it hit the carpeted floor.

But it was quite awhile before she felt Irene's gentle hands on her shoulders, and a still gentler voice coaxing her away from the mess she held in her hands.

---

**Five Bells Low**

When it was all over there were two dead, two out cold. Irene's lip was split and she had a couple of bruised ribs from a lucky shot one of the intruders got in, but overall Irene would say she kicked ass.

Kara had actually come out better, suffering only a few cuts from breaking the mirror, raw knuckles and what was going to become a massive bruise on her lower jaw. Irene was pretty sure that she understood Kara's emphatic statement: "_Frakkers should see me when I'm NOT pregnant."_

Irene couldn't help a quiet laugh. That seemed to touch off a chuckle from Kara, which only made Irene want to laugh harder. The medics working on them ignored their behavior, chalking it up to adrenaline induced euphoria.

---

**Gaia's Landing  
Isolation Ward, Matthew Ballie Research Hospital  
Five Bells Low**

Diedre did not fidget, even in the privacy of her personal quarters. It was not that she didn't fell the occasional desire to tap her foot or drum her fingers – gods knew her son gave her sufficient reason to often enough – she simply _chose_ not to. Fidgeting gave too much away about your state of mind and it was best to remain remote and unfathomable to those around you. A good Poker face had solved many problems in the time she had led her faction, particularly when dealing with matters like a Probe Team invading her base.

"What do we have?" Dierdre asked her unshakably calm manner. She kept her eyes fixed on the foursome laid out on the other side of the plas-glass. The medics covered the two killed in the altercation with a sheet as she watched. The other two were still comatose and unmoving.

Nassir, her chief of security, employed a similar calm as he spoke. "No fingerprints, identifying marks or features, and the usual indications of elective and dermatological surgery on all four. In short, a standard Probe Team." It was common practice for such covert teams to either have their entire appearances changed, or to simply have evidence _suggesting _they had; a complete autopsy was usually needed to determining which was the case.

She wanted to shout and so forced her voice to soften, "How the hell did they get in here to begin with?"

It was well known among the personnel that worked closely with her what that tone meant - Nassir didn't so much as flinch. "I suspect they were already in place, My Lady. My people are circulating their pictures now and seeking any who recognize them."

He glanced at the handwritten sheet in his hand and sneered. "They carried no Netlink gear, so its good odds they weren't seeking to up-load or infiltrate our datalinks. Each carried a garrote, a serrate knife, and two fast-injection flechettes, indicating they were on a kill mission."

"We we've no way of identifying any of them?"

"Not as yet." He straightened and handed the papers to Dierdre. "My resignation will be on your desk within the hour."

It was times like these that she wished she could roll her eyes and not appear juvenile. Instead she settled for bellowing "Stop being an idiot, Nassir!" This time, the tall man did flinch under his Lady's anger.

"My Lady…"

"_You_ did not fail. You and Analee worked together to pick someone of Dr. Fedotov's caliber and skill set for just such occasions. She performed better than expected when confronted with a physical threat to her charge. We knew very well that this woman was going to be in danger and that she needed an appropriately trained body guard."

She paused, forced herself to take a calming breath, "If anyone is responsible for allowing this to happen, it is myself alone. I am the one who insisted, against your advice remember, that the woman remain at Gaia's Landing with only minimal security steps. She nodded towards the window. "Likely those fools in there thought they were going to assassinate some prominent researcher who'd taken up residence here."

Both fell silent for several moments as they watched the various doctors, nurses, and security staff examine the dead and treat the living. It would be nice to have the two surviving idiots wake up for a comprehensive interrogation.

Dierdre sighed and stated "As I recall, your original plan was to send them somewhere quiet and out of the way. Did you have a particular place in mind?"

"Razorbeak Wood was going to be my place of choice. It's small and new enough that transferring personnel wouldn't be immediately noticed. The base has the very best in terms of security equipment and state of the art defenses. It's designated for use as Centauri Preserve and Tree Farm…"

Dierdre nodded, and waved off the rest of his statement – she trusted that there were a sheaf of other reasons to pick the 'Wood over theirother bases and that Nassir had carefully weighed the pros and cons of each before making the suggestion. "It is on the northwestern peninsula, so Svensgaard can patrol the expanse from there."

She saw Nassir nod in her peripheral vision. No doubt that small detail had likewise figured into his recommendation. In addition, the 'Great Lagoon' sea colony wasn't too far from there, and the brood trainers there had reported their first success in 'taming' a wild-born Sealurk. Once that news started circulating, even Cha Dawn would think twice about striking at her people. All in all, the 'Wood sounded like the best place to hide the pair until the Council convened.

"I want them there by tonight, Nassir. See to it."

"As My Lady wishes."

----

**Epilogue:**

**20:05 Hours**  
**Life Station, Battlestar **_**Galactica**_

_Later, after the dead had been tallied and put into bags and cold storage, after the wounded had been seen to and sedated, after all those who could be saved were resting and secure...only after all that did Samuel T. Anders receive his one visitor that night. _

_She glided in, unseen by the nurse on duty, almost as if living to the name Lee Adama had unconsciously given her. Bare feet hardly seemed to touch the deck plates as she padded over to Anders' bedside. Shinning eyes gazed upon the man's still form._

"_I'm sorry, Samuel," she murmured softly. "I'm sorry this had to happen to you." _

_She carefully reached down the neckline of her tanks, pulling out a tarnish set of dog tags and a silver ring on a thin chain. Removing them from around her neck, the woman gently, carefully pressed them into his hand. His grip however was slack, and so she took an extra moment to adjust the hand so it lay palm-up, ensuring the keepsake remained where it should. Satisfied with this, she placed her own palm on his forehead and leaned close his ear. _

"_It'll be over soon. She promised it would be." More words, quieter still, were whispered into his ear._

_At this, the EKG monitor at his beside, which to that point had shown only mild activity, beeped at a subtle spike in its readings. It was enough to alert the duty nurse, who ambled over to the bed without either haste or real concern in evidence. _

_There was no-one nearby when she arrived, and so bent down to study the EKG. As one of the few medical professionals who'd survived the attacks from the beginning, Nurse Cooplan knew how to read and interpret the instruments. What she saw had her sprinting for the wall-phone to summon Cottle. He'd need to see this for himself to believe it._

---


	4. Chapter 4

Well hello there - glad that you all are still reading. Sorry for the long dely, Uberscribbler and I have both been very busy lately.

Please read, enjoy, and let us know what you think!

A/N: Unless otherwise noted, all conversation between Kara and Irene are in a mishmash of Planet Standard and Colonial.

* * *

When the Terran colony ship U.N.S. Unity arrived in the Alpha Centauri star system in Mission Year 2100, it discovered the single satellite in orbit around Alpha Centauri A was capable of supporting life as we humans understand it, if only marginally. Naming the planet "Chiron" in honor of the legendary Centaur for whom the star system itself was named, the Terrans made planetfall onto a world that, as fate or luck would have it, was at once familiar and utterly alien to them.

Practically speaking, Chiron (or more commonly "Planet") clearly developed along the same lines and followed the same scientific rules as life did on Earth. Organic life was based and built out of DNA chains of four base pairs of proteins, ultimately evolving into complex organisms whose immediate origins were from carbon chains in water. But all similarity between Planet and Earth life ended there, as the ecology and make up of Planet itself differed – moderately in some ways, radically in others – from the familiar environs the Terrans had known.

Planet itself, while the same diameter as Earth, had a slightly heavier core, an axial tilt of 2.04 degrees from center, and a rotation period of 17 hours and 53 minutes. All of this translated into a 30-percent greater gravitational pull on the surface and virtually no seasonal variation to the weather. The presence of two moons and oceans covering some 65 percent of the surface makes for stronger-than-average erosion forces, minimizing the heights of land masses reach above sea level. Mount Planet, the crater of a presently-quiet caldera complex, reaches a height of 3,700 kilometers above sea level and represents the highest point on Planet.

The land masses of Planet number three 'major' continents, one 'minor' continent, and a solitary island approximately the size of Ireland on Earth. The westernmost continent is a continuous landmass approximating the letter "L", albeit connected with the island-crater of Mount Planet and a minor attached landmass to its southwestern tip by a comparatively thin land bridge. This has led the continent to be variously named 'The Leg', 'the Foot', and more formally Pholus Spine.

The eastern continent is a roughly-circular landmass with a long peninsula stretching southwards from its western coastline, thus giving it a rough "P" shape. What is exceptional about this continent is how varied its terrain proves, encompassing a jungle rainforest, a stretch of desert, high-elevation plateaus, and more temperate lands. The continent is generally referred to as Pangea, as a nod towards its all-encompassing diversity of environments, a world in miniature.

Situated between Pholus Spine and Pangea is a heart-shaped island continent, one particularly rich in mineral ores along its north and southern tips, and a thick band of naturally fertile land across its middle. These seeming extremes led to it being tentatively named Elysium, as it could seemingly cater to any needs settlers upon it might have.

To the north of Pangea is a massive island shaped like three diamonds connected side-by-side. Named Deinerra, there is nothing particularly noteworthy about the landmass beyond its natural habitability (and a decidedly unnatural structure that will be described later). The only other landmass of note is the small isle Daximus, located to the southwest of the southern tip of Pholus Spine and - as previously noted - is barely 80,000 km in size and carries no notable features or landmarks.

The atmosphere of Planet itself is a major departure from Terran norms, being both twenty-five percent heavier in content and being comprised of a barely breathable mixture of 89% nitrogen, 5% oxygen, 3% helium, and a host of trace gasses. While this reduces the danger of uncontrolled fires, it similarly makes human habitation especially challenging. Terran settlements have been largely self-contained and –regulated environments, but given it was neither practical nor possible for the colonists to completely enclose themselves in bio-dome structures, some degree of terraforming was ultimately required to make Planet more suitable to their needs.

Such efforts however could not help but disturb the abundant native wildlife.

- _A Brief History of Planet_

* * *

**Undisclosed location**

**Pangaea Continent, Chiron**

_Fourteen standard minutes after Probe Team incursion in Gaia's Landing_

The room was kept dark, lit only by the blue glow of the monitoring stations arranged in a semi-circular pattern terminating on both sides at a raised terminal that oversaw all covert operations currently underway in their sector. Part of this was simple practicality, so to ensure the station's energy use was so minimal as to go overlooked; the other purpose was purely psychological, to remind everyone present their purpose was covert, and thus they needed to stay as deeply in the shadows as possible.

There was only the quiet hum of working machinery and the occasional murmur of conversation to be heard, and were no distraction to the Controller reading her reports. Her eyes, long since adjusted to the low light, skimmed over the status reports from the three currently active probe teams under her purview. Most information gathered was considered unimportant, but she was not one to toss something away - it might prove useful later on. Much like a hoarder could never get rid of any of their possessions, regardless of their lack of value – she could not toss information away as useless. It was this precision and attention to detail that made her one of the best probe team analysts and commanders among her faction.

She anticipated that in a hour or so she could retire for the evening, refresh her mind and find a way to reorganize her operations to compensate for the disruption by the order to alter her active team's mission at Gaia's Landing. Damn the politics that took them away from their initial schedule, it was going to push back the time table for the whole mission.

She set aside a data pad and allowed her gaze to sweep along the dark confines of the room. An eyebrow quirked up in a rare show of annoyance. Nearly half of her analysts and three of her best operatives had been pulled and reassigned recently. Her superiors chose to stick her with a host of newly inducted personnel; it made things...chaotic. And while the secret war between the factions was the very embodiment of chaos, where the polite truces and nominal alliances amongst the leaders meant little and it was literally every group and faction for themselves, the Controller preferred to keep everything in her domain as orderly and controlled as possible.

At least most of this newest group were smart enough to keep their heads down and eyes on their jobs. A rare treat when dealing with new analysts and operatives. She supposed that once they were trained to her standards, many would be reassigned and, once again, she would have to deal with inexperienced and untrained personnel. The problem with being one of the best - you have to train those who weren't.

A hesitant voice interrupted her internal machinations, "Control? Green…just went black."

A spark of alarm flared in her chest – one that did not reach her face. 'Green' was the team in Gaia's Landing and had only just been re-tasked direct action. They'd been running silent for the last six hours; for them to be reported as 'black' meant…

She stood, crossed her arms and zeroed in on the tech who spoke. She would discount this news as a mistake if it had been anyone other than this particular individual. The woman was one of her more reliable and well trained staff - not one to jump to incorrect conclusions.

Her second in command spoke sharply, "How did that happen? They were on a cake mission."

If the room had any more ambient light, those around her would have noticed a slight eye twitch that conveyed her annoyance at that statement and the change of plans that lead to her best probe team being sent on the 'cake mission'. "He is correct. Green are all elite and enhanced; a simple assassination would not slow them down." This was a bit of an exaggeration, given any covert action required both prep-time and detailed intelligence of the target. Even a team with the algorithmic enhancements Green had could not switch their operations about like a flicking an old-fashioned light switch.

The tech swallowed - valiantly schooling her face into a blank expression, "Green acknowledged they had received orders to abort their primary mission and await further instructions. New instructions and the kill order were downloaded and acknowledged. The team went silent as they began secondary engagement. But as of two minutes ago, all signals have gone black."

The Controller was silent for several moments – turning this over in her head. The longer the silence dragged, the more nervous everyone became. She was known for her utter ruthlessness when the situation called for it

The initial alarm was slowly growing. Only her mother and her Leader would be able to tell that she was very, very worried about this new development. She turned to one of her newest analysts, "Vital readings? Did any survive?"

The young man jumped at his station, earning him a slight expression of disgust from the Second and a blank expression from the Controller. He nervously tapped at his board and forced himself to reply in a firm and confident voice. "Nothing, ma'am. The Hunter-Seeker has detected their passive signal and is blocking it." He would have sworn he saw the Controller's eyes widen, surprised and worried; this wasn't the first time the Hunter-Seeker Algorithm had cut off a Probe Team, but it was certainly the first time it had sprung into action so quickly. The expression vanished just as quickly, her preferred mask of indifference returning.

"Nothing coming out whatsoever?" she asked coolly.

"Um…wait." He tapped his keyboard and reported "A small packet made it out, just before the Hunter-Seeker cut in…"

"Is it complete?"

"Appears so. Its…its small, ma'am. The format looks…um…" The young man looked back up, looking mildly embarrassed and trying to be brave about it. "I'll need a few minutes."

The Controller said nothing and gave him a tight little nod. The Second's voice was more expressive, "At least one is still alive…This could be a disaster."

In her ever-calm voice she replied, "This could be much worse than that. This could ruin everything."

After another few moments of silent contemplation, "We have to find a way to kill them, ASAP." She ordered with no expression of regret or remorse. Though the operatives were all very skilled and adept at their chosen careers - they weren't good enough. If there was one thing she demanded from her people, it was excellence.

She never had a problem preserving her interests in any situation. The threat they presented if they lived to be interrogated could very well ruin the overall operation and leave their ultimate goal out of reach.

---

**Gaia's Landing**

**Monsoon Jungle, Pangea continent, eastern coast**

**Aerospace Strip Alpha**

_Day 18, between Eight and Nine Bells Low_

Most days, Lindley enjoyed her job immensely. As the personal problem solver/body guard of the most powerful human on the planet, it came with a great deal of prestige and influence, and goddess knew she was rarely bored. It even made occasionally dealing with that savage Svengaard bearable.

Today, however…today was not one of those days.

Lindley blamed Kara Thrace and her irrational refusal to literally budge from her current position on the tarmac. Normally she would not have let this faze her at all and would simply summon additional help. But for two reasons, this situation was different. The first was she had to wait for a translation from that smartass Fedotov, and the second was that she couldn't just hypo the stubborn blonde and drag her to the transport bound for Razorbeak Wood.

Said stubborn blonde was presently gesturing expansively, clearly expressing her anger. Lindley would have been happy to address whatever she was bitching about, but Fedotov appeared to be having difficulty with figuring out exactly what the blond woman was saying.

Irene didn't actually have much difficulty understanding Kara, who's objection boiled down to What about my Raptor? I am NOT leaving it here for you all to tear apart. It's like, my people's intellectual property! This was interspersed with dubious observations about Lindley's parentage and sexual mores. It was an impressive display and one the linguist was loath to interrupt.

Irene quirked an eyebrow and turned to Lindley, "She wants assurances that you will not tear apart her ship as it is the 'intellectual property' of her people."

Lindley resisted the urge to grit her teeth, "Has she ever heard the phrase 'possession is nine-tenths of the law'?"

An amused expression crossed Fedotov's face, "Oh yes, that would go over well. Particularly right now." Fedotov glanced at Thrace briefly, "Look - that ship and its technology is the only thing she has. I have a feeling that she is trying to protect her people's interests. It might be the only thing they have to offer for trade if or when they ever get here."

The swish of the door opening and the subsequent appearance of Lady Skye was the only thing that kept Lindley from barking orders to the security personnel present to toss the two women over their shoulders and carry them to the damn ship.

"I believe my orders were clear and explicit. Why are they not on a ship bound for Razorbeak Wood?"

Lindley cleared her throat to respond but was beat to it by a string of unintelligible speech from the troublesome blonde. Irene's eyes crinkled as if trying to repress a smile several times during the long speech.

The blonde ended her speech with crossed arms, glaring at Lindley fiercely enough to melt silk steel. Normally this would not bother her, but she suddenly felt dizzy. A slow drip of liquid came from her nose and she swiped it away. Her fingers came away red with blood.

Lindley slumped against the nearest wall while Irene, eyes wide with shock quickly moved between the two women and spoke to her in a soothing tone of voice.

Skye's tone was thoughtful and calculating, "Interesting."

Lindley tilted her head back to stem the flow of blood. Otherwise she would have actually glared at Lady Skye. "Right, interesting - more like homicidal. The bitch wants us to delay their departure to haul that wreck of a ship she showed up in to the Wood with them."

"The request is only marginally unreasonable. Much as I agree with your haste, Lindley, the woman must be accommodated." Diedre glanced at her personal guard, "Prepare a larger transport and load the woman's ship for transfer to Razorbeak Wood."

She moved to speak in a much softer tone of voice to her personal assistant, "And do not curse so freely. I may allow such behavior in my son - he cannot help that he was raised in part by a barbarian - but you are held to a higher standard of conduct."

A small quirk of the lip was all the amusement Lindley displayed when she replied, "As the Lady wishes."

Diedre turned to examine the young woman who seemed to cause excitement even when she was doing nothing. This latest development was going to create complications. She would have to be trained and taught how to control this - forcing Diedre to reveal to even more people what she now had in their possession. The risk of not training her outweighed the risk of bringing in an Empath or Trancend to work with her. Kara could very well kill someone next time.

---

Kara spent all of the flight out staring at the bulkhead of the 'light' transport. What little she noticed was that it was way frakking bigger than any Colonial transport used for intra-atmospheric runs like this, and that it was positively luxurious compared to the same. The chair she was buckled into was so damned comfortable she nearly fell asleep several times. The loading bay had been big enough to taxi the Raptor on board – so one of her demands were met.

In a way, the fact that they quickly acquiesced to that demand made her feel much, much worse. Irene had hastily explained her budding mental abilities, going on to say that they were both unpredictable and at this time uncontrollable.

Injuring someone with just your mind…that was big. It was truly horrifying for her to have that sort of power over another person. Lindley had done nothing really wrong, not even unfair. Moving the Raptor did take a while, leaving Irene, herself, and most especially her child exposed to further threat; that last one only made it worse, but by the same token she just knew she needed to have the Raptor along with her. She was really unable to come up with an explanation for why she was so insistent on bringing her ship along, just that it was necessary.

She shook her head and returned her attention to the landscape as it whizzed past. Thick dark pink forests of what Irene called 'fungus' rose from the dark brown soil, intermingled with the occasional scraggily green tree. Every once in a while she would notice a ripple, almost a pulse in the fungal stalks. The stuff was…fascinating.

She let the passing fungal blooms hypnotize her and finally relaxed, she slept.

---

**Morgan Industries Headquarters**

**Southwestern Quadrant, Uranium Flats, Elysium continent**

_Day 18, Second Shift_

Nwabudike Morgan leaned back in his genuine leather chair and gazed at the vision of planet before him. His office sat at the top of Morgan Industries' tallest building, affording him a full 360-degree view of the surrounding area. To the west: the broad, dark-sand beaches surrounding the harbor and ringed with freshly-planted pine trees, wide expanse of the Northern Sea beyond. To the north: the solar farms and magnetic monorail leading to Morgan Mines and its subsidiaries. Were he to look to the east, he would see a vast stretch of Pine forest and automated farms, with well-paved roads leading to his Morgan Astronautics, and to the south was "mineral lane" with its row of open-bore mines from which flowed the fantastic wealth of his adopted world.

Yes, his domain was grand enough. If only he didn't have to worry so about his nominal competition. On that score, he had several reports that needed attention. Morgan Metagenics' quarterly profits had fallen to unacceptable levels. Consequently, Sky Research, Inc. and Union Genetics had increased their market share, cutting into his profits. The "longevity vaccination regimen project" was proceeding apace, but he had no spare credits to put into it and there were indications that both Lal and Domai's people were pursuing similar avenues.

Lal didn't surprise him, given the UN had managed to reconstruct the entire Human Genome Project from scratch nearly a century ago. Domai was more problematical, and not simply because his self-styled 'Free Drones' had a definite edge in manufacturing; if that low-talent brute had finally gotten over his natural prejudice against 'blue sky' research…

This train of thought was interrupted by a series of tones emanating from his personal communications unit. The unique chime, one that he himself had not programmed, indicated exactly who was calling. He deliberately let it ring several times before casually answering the call with a practiced, superior smirk.

The picture of Synder Roze loaded, her mocha-skin and shinning eyes contrasting nicely with the bare metallic wall she stood before. "Ah, Assurance Manager Asa Wright. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Roze's own smirk was the only indication of any emotion. Not even a twitch of the eye. It was something he personally admired about her – only Yang surpassed her body control. This was, among other things, why she was considered nearly as dangerous as the self-styled "Chairman". He nevertheless couldn't help but needle her whenever opportunity arose, knowing full well how much it annoyed her to be reminded of her former life as his employee.

It gave him no end of satisfaction to constantly remind her that he was the reason she continued to succeed, the unspoken (and rather erroneous) assumption amongst the other factions being there was a "special relationship" between himself and Roze. It served as a nice if paper-thin deterrent attack by the rest. Even that hellish imp Cha Dawn apparently thought twice about antagonizing the Data Angels, keenly aware of the losses they'd already imposed upon his Cult.

Still and all, her unblinking gaze secretly unnerved him. She sat, staring silently at him for several moments. Must to his disgust, he was the first to speak. "You rang?"

For a woman who reveled in creating chaos and confusion, her voice was remarkably calm and controlled, "I have a little proposition for you, Nwabudike." Morgan felt his nostril's flare at the casual use of his Christian name; she did it needle him in exchange, presenting herself as his equal. "My research people have recently completed work on a portfolio in retroviral engineering. I thought you might be interested in light of your recent…troubles."

He couldn't help the flash of anger that crossed his face. No doubt her goal in reminding him of the last outbreak of Pravo virus, and how they'd learned that nearly a quarter of his people had a gene that made them particularly vulnerable to both contracting the disease and to permanent paralysis as a result of the defective gene. The 'longevity vaccine' would have solved that little problem, if only he could rush the damned trials to conclusion.

Playing coy would do him no good – she knew of his problems and that she had him 'over a barrel' as the saying went. "And you'd be willing to provide those files?"

"But of course."

"What do you want in exchange?"

She stared at him, that self-assured smirk widening just enough to stir something besides anger in his heart…and lower areas, to boot. For her it was a full grin. "I'm aware you've been working with Aki-Zeta's, um, people." Her hesitation was understandable; the so-called Cybernetic Consciousness lived up to its name and its citizens increasingly resembling something out of the more gaudy offerings from Morgan Entertainment. "I know you've got the Mind-Machine Interface cracked and operational."

"The retroviral portfolio, in exchange for complete files and schematics on the MMI?"

"That's the deal."

"No." There was no hesitation on his part; the MMI represented the first real military breakthrough his people had managed in decades. Even the Spartans hadn't gotten that far yet, the Consciousness showed no sign of recognizing its full potential. He wasn't about to give that up just yet. Certainly not before the first wing of planned helo-choppers were ready.

"I could just send some of my boys into any of your bases and just take it out of your Datalinks," Roze reminded him.

"You could, but then that would alert the others that you and I are antagonists, not allies. Also, do you seriously think my military is just for show?" He gave her a placating smile. "I won't share the MMI, but I can give you our files on monopole magnet engineering."

He watched her mouth twitch, ready to protest but she paused instead. "Very well," she ultimately nodded, her West Indies accent coming to the fore. "The trade is fair. Will the usual protocols suffice?"

"Of course."

She quirked her eyebrow, "I also recently came into some interesting information that might be of interest to your military research division. Call it a present for your birthday, old man."

With that last insult, she cut the connection. He felt comfortable enough to slam his fist onto his desk. That woman always seemed to get the better of him in their conversations.

He wanted to leave his office, head down to the nearest gambling hall and loose himself for a few hours. Conversations with Roze always seemed to do that to him. However, he wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to get ahead just because the information came from the woman who gave him chest pains on a regular basis.

A few commands and a thorough scan for Trojans or other computer viruses later, the file opened and his gaze took in a surveillance capture of initially horrendous quality. If the date and coordinates stamp on the capture was correct, this image was noteworthy for two reasons – one, it was taken within Gaia's Landing exactly ten days ago; a significant point, given that when Lady Skye's forces seized the seaborne Morgan Arcology, she also acquired the Hunter-Seeker Algorithm master code. Since then, their datalinks and facilities were virtually impregnable to infiltration.

Second, and more importantly, the image truly did depict something of value. Although the image quality was poor, it was easy enough to see the outline of a ship, one that had a completely new design. The structure was unlike anything any faction on Planet currently used. When he moved the touch-cursor over the image, Morgan was mildly surprised to see the image first clarify, the background dropping away and a clearer (likely computer-generated) look at the vehicle emerging. It finally resolved itself into a multi-angle drawing of the vehicle itself, complete with estimates of its dimensions.

Morgan himself was no engineer, but he was familiar enough with machinery to conclude it was some manner of aircraft. True, it was boxy and lacked the elegance of modern Needlejets, but he couldn't see how a land speeder, however large, would need stabilizer fins or out-sized engines on its backside.

This was puzzling given Diedre's airpower rested with her newest XC-136's – state of the art needle jets exclusively produced at Song of Planet. These jets were state of the art - equipped with a high powered resonance laser, communication jamming technology and encryption software that rendered these powerful weapons immune to outside interference. No one had plans for it and no one could figure out how Diedre Skye, one of the youngest faction leaders and a pacifist, had managed to design, build and secure such valuable information away from the rest of Planet even with the Hunter-Seeker Algorithm active.

With all that, in addition to her alliance with Svengaard, Morgan had to wonder: why was she suddenly throwing more credits into aircraft R&D?

---

**Razorbeak Wood**

**North Eastern Peninsula, Pangea Continent**

**Suite Two-A, Third Level, Admin Wing**

_Between Three and Four Bells High_

Kara was jolted out of her funk when she got a good look at their assigned quarters. "We are staying here…this is ours?"

Irene leaned around Kara, who had stopped in the doorway, to check the place out. It was really nice – rare grey-slate in the entrance hall gave way to cream colored carpet. A large red area rug lay in the middle of the sunken living room. The couch was huge and was flanked by two chaise lounge chairs, all facing toward the bank of windows.

Even from the other side of the apartment, she could tell the view was awesome. Kara dropped the bag she had been carrying and wandered, almost as if in a daze, toward the balcony. Irene followed and resisted the urge to press her face against the glass like a six year old. She pushed the button to open the sliding door, stepped out onto the balcony, and felt something that very few colonists on Planet ever got the chance to experience – wind.

Kara glanced around, confused, "I thought the domes blocked all of the wind."

Irene glanced over at Kara, then up, "Lindley dropped me a data pad with information about Razorbeak Wood and I read it on the way over."

She smiled widely, "Most bases are confined by traditional physical containment domes – few factions presently have the resources and technical expertise to create this sort of system. Basically, the Wood is a test bed for the system and has a retractable physical containment dome and a constant energy containment field. It has worked well so far, hence our being allowed here." There were other reasons for their relocation to this base specifically, ones Irene wasn't ready to share with her charge just yet.

Irene glanced up and pointed, "See that glimmer there?" Kara glanced up to see a slight shimmer of light dance in a wide band across the breadth of the base. "That is wind interacting with the field. The field filters the air, making it breathable for humans." She grinned widely, "And you get wind."

Kara closed her eyes, re-familiarizing herself with the nearly forgotten sensation of wind on her face, "What happens if the containment field fails?"

Irene snorted, "Parade ruiner…it takes 35 seconds for the physical dome to cover the base."

"I thought the air was toxic."

"Well, humans can breath the natural atmosphere for a maximum of five standard minutes before they start accruing adverse affects. Most suffocate after twelve."

Kara rolled her eyes, "Pleasant thought."

"I wouldn't worry too much. The Wood is probably the most secure bases on Planet. Even the datalinks are isolated. Everyone that comes in or out of the base is personally interviewed by the head of Gaian/Nautali covert operations."

"And who is that?"

"Well, I didn't know this until I read the pad – but it is Skye's son."

Kara blinked, "Skye has a son?"

"Yep."

Kara blinked again, shocked, "She is the ultimate ice queen! I would never…I can't believe she let someone get that close. With who?!"

"Ulrik Svensgaard, the leader of the Pirates. They had a thing…or something…before they left Earth. They, um, reunited once she learned that he was heading up his own breakaway faction."

The two women quieted as two men entered and set out a meal. Once they were gone, Irene quirked an eyebrow and continued, "Apparently, their son was an 'accident' and the Lady refused to abort the baby or give him up for adoption. It made her security advisers very nervous."

Kara popped what Irene called a raspberry into her mouth and asked, "Have you ever met him?"

"The son? Once…or twice."

"What's he look like?"

Irene smirked playfully and forked a bite of the pancake into her mouth, "Just like his father, but his mother's green eyes."

Kara paused to think about that, given she'd yet to see any pictures of other faction leaders, then smirked herself. "So…frakkable?"

"Oh, very." Irene's voice was so dry and tone exasperated, Kara eyed the other woman closely.

"You don't like him?"

Irene quirked an eyebrow and ground out "I don't know him…at least not that well.." After a moment of consideration, "I don't like what I know of him. Beowulf Skye-Svensgaard, nickname Wolf, is a man-whore."

Kara grinned, "I will admit to picking up the occasional gossip mag every-once-in-a-while back in the Colonies and if I know that most of the stuff they print is bullshit you have to know it too."

"Even if three quarters of what they write about 'Wolf' is bullshit, he is still a man-whore. Which is ironic, given his nickname."

Kara frowned at Irene, confused. "What does it mean?"

Irene glanced up, surprised, "Oh, a wolf or wolves are animals from earth – canine apex predators. They symbolize a whole mess of things, but one of the things they most known for is the idea that 'wolves mate for life.'" She tossed a raspberry into her mouth, "And he doesn't."

---

**Battlestar Galactica**

**Life Station**

_20 days after the mutiny _

It was eight days before Lee heard about Sam's 'miraculous' recovery, which apparently didn't amount to anything more than his brain going from "brain dead" to merely "comatose". Cottle was at a loss, as were the cylons, who insisted that their physiology was identical to humans and so shouldn't have been able to spring back from the kind of wound Anders had suffered. Doc had likewise been adamant that removing the bullet still lodged in his neck was risky, but that leaving it in would be terminal.

Even so, Lee hadn't really had the time (or honestly, the inclination) to pay the man a visit. With the quorum dead and Roslin all but retired, his father suddenly obsessing over cracks in the wall and there being cylons all over the place, Lee found himself running ragged as he tried to stitch together another governing body for the fleet and personally manage the thousand and ten complaints that somehow found their way to him. The only up-side to this was that it left him too busy to spare a thought about Kara. The rare instances when she did reach his thoughts, it extended no further than a relieved thought of _'Well, at least they're safe from all this'_.

It didn't occur to him until much, much later how it was always _they_, and not _she_.

It was an additional ten days before word reached Lee that not only had Anders finally woken up, but that he was proving quite the chatter box. More to the point, he was insisting – loudly – that he speak with Lee. This came somewhere between negotiating supply sharing between three of their more argumentative captains and Tigh making noise about him "talking sense" to the Old Man about Galactica's condition. It was quickly swamped by Helo's wanting approval for plans to combine Galactica and the basestar's air wings, issues with the enviromentals on the Rising Star, and managing Romo's idea of 'input' into how their fleet should be run.

It was only when Cottle all but dragged him into Life Station that Lee found the time to pay Anders his visit. By that point, Lee was ready to hijack a Raptor himself and jump to parts unknown. So visiting a man he could only barely stand wasn't an unwelcome distraction.

---

At least it would have been, if Cottle had been in an even marginally less-homicidal mood.

The first thing Doc hissed to him – after applying a bruising grip to his upper arm and pulling him in a relatively quiet corner of his domain – was "Anders is paralyzed." Lee managed to shrug off the older man's grip on his arm, but it was a short struggle.

"Where? How bad?"

"Pretty much from the neck-down, he's literal deadweight. I haven't got a frakking clue how he's still breathing."

Lee restrained himself from making some comment about Ander's origins and instead asked "So what does he want with me?"

---

It seemed all Samuel T. Anders wanted from him was to talk. More accurately, to listen to his rushed and abbreviated history lesson of the Final Five, which he opened by dropping decidedly unpleasant bombshell:

"That planet…it wasn't where we five came from."

Tigh, Foster, and Tyrol were likewise in attendance, looking in various stages of surprise and resignation. It took Lee a couple beats to connect the dots. "When you say 'we', you mean the Final Five."

"Cuh…correct." Anders somehow managed a small bob of his chin. "We were survivors of a holocaust, the only ones. We'd been warned and we laf…left the planet in ah…an experimental ship."

Lee wanted to ask Warned by who? But something stopped him and instead he asked "So how are you sure that we didn't just leave your planet? I mean, we found Centurions there…"

"Nuh…not our centurions. Not the one's we built." Anders said this with such clear conviction, Lee believed him. "Well, that, and how the continents were all the wrong shape. An' there was too much wah…water."

"Sam…your voice?"

"I neh…I know." They could all see the veins and tendons working in the former athlete's neck. "Its hard to…getting harder to make the works…the words…make the right right words."

Lee turned to Cottle, who'd wandered back over. "Doc, what's with him?"

"The bullet done enough damage that he's suffering from aphasia…"

"Which is?"

"A language disorder. 'Word salad' is another term for it." The crusty CMO sighed and shook his head. "Basically his speech centers are so frakked up they're attaching the wrong words to what he's thinking and trying to say."

"If you removed the bullet?" Tory Foster asked. "Would that fix this?"

To which Doc simply shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not."

"But you don't think so," Tigh put in. Doc's silence was answer enough.

"Okay, Sam?" Lee ran his fingers through his hair and thought furiously. "Okay, so, that wasn't your Earth…wasn't the thirteenth colony…"

"No, no. That's just blue…it. That's just it." The larger man's frustration was really starting to show, and was clearly reflected in the others.

"What's 'it', Sam?"

"The rainbow…ray…radiation…on the planet. It was fish…it was fresh, yeah?" He slew his eyes towards Tigh, who was nodding.

"What we registered was pretty prevalent, but diffuse, like it happened only recently."

"How recently?" asked Lee.

"A little over a hundred years ago, at a guess."

"Our holocaust was over two thousand years ago," Sam put in, bringing all eyes back to him. "We five…we came to the colonies through a near-lightspeed propulsion system…time dilation bringing us there faster than we aged…and we gave those cylons resurrection technology, so they would end their war there."

"We…we gave them resurrection?" Tory sputtered.

"And copied our celery…sales...jeans…gee…gee…"

"Genome," Tyrol offered. "We gave them access to our genome."

"They waned…they wanted…to be more like the humans. They were working that say…to…towards wards…

Lee nodded. "We encountered their, um, offspring shortly after we found Pegasus and the resurrection ship."

Doc Cottle chose that moment to insert himself back into the conversation. "Well, as interesting as all this is, Anders? We need a decision from you while you're still coherent."

"Able…sable…about?"

"Getting that bullet out of your skull before it shifts again and…"

"I…thin…sack…" Anders let his head fall back in defeat.

Doc grit his teeth and snarled "Look, boy. Your wife isn't here, so that means either you make the decision or you name a proxy who can. And you need to do it right frakking now 'cause…"

"Lee makes cake," Anders suddenly declared, making everyone jump. He'd practically shouted it. "Lee makes cake!"

"Excuse me?" Doc growled, while the rest simple stood and stared.

"Me?" Lee asked after another beat. "You want…me…as your proxy?"

"I'm blue…born…you're best for…making this marker…" Anders sucked his teeth and closed his eyes, looking ready to literally explode.

Doc leaned closer. "Son, you're designating Lee Adama to be your medical proxy, yes?" Anders met the CMO's eyes, then gave a very clear nod. Cottle straightened up and turned to the rest. "You're all legal witnesses to this. Understand?"

"We're clear, Doc," Tigh said, crossing his arms and giving a quelling glance at the other two.

"Okay. Apollo?"

Lee could only shrug and ask "Bottom line?"

"His aphasia's obviously getting worse. We can't wait much longer or we'll be planning his funeral."

"Sam, I…" Lee met Ander's eyes full on, seeing a combination of understanding and resignation there. He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. "Okay, Doc. Wheel him in." On impulse, he reached down and gave a hard squeeze to Ander's left hand, only to remember that he was paralyzed and likely wouldn't have felt even that gesture of comfort. The flash of embarrassment this brought quickly gave way to puzzlement as he felt something small and metallic cradled there. Lee smoothly palmed the object and watched Ander's bed get wheeled away.

Likely Anders hadn't even been aware of what he'd been holding, given his focus was on his fellow three cylons. "Colonel…stay with the fleet. Stay with the fleet!" Lee simply stood there, put his clenched hand into his pocket, and turned to address the others.

"Are you staying?" he asked them all.

"I'll stay," Tory immediately offered, an uncharacteristic and strange frown to her normally placid features. So too was the gaze she gave the two men beside her, leaving Lee to wonder just what was being communicated there.

Rather than try to puzzle it out, Lee simply nodded and said "Send word to me when he's out of surgery." He didn't wait for a response, turning on his heel and exiting the room. Better to make a quick getaway before one of them heard the pair of dog-tags jingling in his pocket; Lee knew himself well enough to realize what a poor liar he really was (outside of the triad table and his marriage vows, that is).

---

**Battlestar Galactica**

**Life Station**

_24 days after the mutiny_

Word didn't reach Lee about Ander's coming out of surgery until three days after the event. To be fair, between Caprica Six's pregnancy taking a downward turn, Roslin taking an even steeper downward turn, and Romo working the nerves of everyone he came across, it was only natural that Anders take a backseat to the daily dramas of the fleet's struggle to survive another day. The only accomplishment he could see was the Captains of the other ships all agreeing to become a governing board and work together.

Not to say he totally forgot about Anders condition, or his position of being Anders' nominal guardian. It was rather hard to do so given the dog-tags he'd literally palmed from the other man's hand were still in his pants pocket. Lee had, for various reasons, not yet taken the time to pull them out and examine them; he'd managed to come up with a dozen excuses to avoid doing so, all legitimate commands of his time and all of them lies he told only himself.

When he finally did summon the nerve and time to visit Life Station, he timed it so Cottle was elsewhere and he was fairly certain the other three cylons were occupied elsewhere. There were some things he just wasn't ready to do with an audience looking on.

He found Anders in a secluded section of the floor, alone, with his bed raised and no life support equipment in sight beyond the usual heart and EKG monitors. Lee felt a pain of regret that he'd left this for so long and he stepped closer, only to jump in surprise when a quiet voice spoke up beside him.

"There you are." It was Lynn Ishay, who fixed him with a look that hovered somewhere between resignation and outright contempt.

"Um…how is…he?" Lee stammered, feeling unaccountably self-conscious.

"Alive."

"So he's okay."

"No." She nodded towards the EKG monitor. "His brain activity is now non-existent. He's brain dead." She folded her arms and added "We've no idea how he's still breathing."

Lee could only stand and stare for another minute, then turned and addressed the nurse directly. "Tell Doc I'll be by in the morning to discuss…options. Okay?" He didn't wait for an answer or another barb, and left the area with only moderate haste but no real direction in mind. This, ironically, led him directly in the absolute last person he wanted to encounter at any time of the day or night.

"Ah, Mister Adama," Gaius Baltar said, equally surprised but quicker to recover. "There's something I need to discuss with you."

---

**Sparta Command**

**Sunny Mesa, eastern Pangea**

_20 Days Since Arrival_

The room was but layers of shadows, the single light coming from the small lamp on the simple desk before her. Corazon Santiago's attention was focused there, not upon her aching and abused body, hung naked and spread-eagled by mag-tethers for her interrogator's perusal. As a deliberate show of contempt, her interrogator spared not the slightest glance at her body, instead making a show of shuffling the papers before him.

Her back stung from the abundance of lash-marks covering it, the pain more acute due to the room's temperature set deliberately low. This session had opened with her being displayed like a prize piece of meat, followed by her back being lashed for some unmeasured span of time. They hadn't started on her more intimate openings yet, although all knew that was the next step in this process. Corazon refused to break, even at the knowledge of what was coming, schooling her composure to perfect blankness.

To her credit, she didn't jump when her interrogator finally began speaking. "The loss of Assassin's Redoubt demonstrated the vulnerability of Spartan installations to a direct assault by native wild life." Corazon knew the words intimately, having written them herself and delivered them in countless briefings. Here, they were spoken with an undisguised sneer, a further measure of the contempt with which she was apparently held. Certainly she held herself in such regard, and for reason that her nominal captors saw fit to elaborate on.

"The more recent loss of Fort Superiority to the Gaians, an attack which all available evidence shows was comprised solely of mind worm boils, leaves one to wonder exactly how seriously you took your own words, Colonel." Clearly he'd expected an answer, this expectation punctuated by another strike to her back, this one angled slightly lower this time and catching her buttocks as well. The cat-o-nine tails being used was made from cured borewulf hide, which improperly wielded could shred a human's skin down to the bone. Thankfully, she knew the one holding it was well-trained in its use and wouldn't take things that far, not that Corazon didn't deserve it…

"Colonel?" the one before her growled, patience clearly thin.

"Yes," she ground out in reply. "Yes, I damn well took my own words seriously."

"Given the size of the garrison stationed as Superiority at the time of the Gaian's offensive, never mind the available intelligence of Gaian forces? It should have been three times as strong."

"It was," Santiago hissed, the implication paining her worse than a thousand whip strikes might.

"You assigned only the Fourth Legionary to the facility." A rustle of papers followed, mainly for effect. "None of whom had been Trance-trained."

Gaia's Stepdaughters had, in a show of friendship, made available training in various empath techniques proven to improve one's chances in encounters with Mind Worms. The Hypnotic Trance was one such technique and SOP in the last sixty years had been for all Spartan bases to have at least one Company-strength unit so trained in its garrison. The now-deceased Fourth Legionary had been a transplant to Fort Superiority, whose assigned garrison had needed to be completely and quickly redeployed to what had been judged more vulnerable targets. Lady Skye was an avowed and known pacifist, and so hardly someone who was expected to master even the most basic of military strategy.

Yet master it she clearly had, hitting Superiority with surprising speed and force while tying down larger forces all along the coastline – where she'd kept her 'swarm' of Isle-o-the-Deep moving, keeping clear of Domai's holdings – and to the south by massing a couple legions of her own near the Planetnek landbridge. Superiority, as consequence, had been left with a reduced garrison.

"They weren't…alone." Corazon hissed.

"No?"

"No! The Blank Hands and Bright Eyes were there."

"Were they?" This was asked with such polite distain as to be nerve-wracking. "I saw nothing in the after-action report of any Hive formations being found there."

"That…they weren't…"

"They weren't what, Colonel?"

"They weren't…there…when the Gaians attacked." She allowed herself a bitter snicker, as much at voicing what should have been a perfect oxymoron with those last two words as being so easily forced to finally voice the real reason Superiority had fallen. She'd taken full and public responsibility for that disaster, like any true leader would, conveniently overlooking the abundance of mitigating circumstances that shifted that blame off her completely. This was, in part, the reason she'd refused all calls from Yang since then, and even contemplating declaring an entirely new vendetta.

"No," her interrogator drawled. "They weren't there. The reinforcements you'd banked on were gone. Gone where, is the question."

"I…don't know."

"Oh, you know. You know because you demanded to know. And what was the answer?"

"They'd…both divisions had redeployed…to Planetnek."

"And why in the name of Ares and Athena did you order that?"

"I didn't!"

"You didn't? Then who did?"

"That…that…" She struggled, unable to push out a workable sequence of curse-names to encompass the individual in question. Her vocabulary, built up over a lifetime in the slums and battlefields of two worlds, was wide and colorful and so frustratingly inadequate. It struck Corazon as hilarious on so many levels she actually began to snicker aloud, the snickers becoming actual laughter, all of it with a dangerous, hysterical edge. One strike hit her back, another her ass, and still her hysteria refused to abate.

Her interrogator saw this and waved his fellow back, quickly standing and coming around the desk. Tall and broad as he was, his rising reminded Corazon of a mushroom cloud rising from a "Mountain-Buster" strike; an image that, if anything, only quickened her laughter. It was a clear measure of the frankly inhuman strain she'd put herself under, even beyond having this 'debriefing' conducted in this manner.

Thankfully these two knew her intimately enough to likewise know what was needed to snap her out it: a single backhanded strike to the cheek, which was delivered with such force Corazon was sure a tooth or two (or three) was loosened by it. The blow nevertheless had the desired effect, her previously racing-thoughts suddenly halting and slipping into perfect clarity. Her mind was a placid, calm pool of clarity now.

Just as well, as a chime suddenly echoed in the room. "Concord," Colonel Santiago hissed, the mag-tethers holding her aloft shutting off a moment later. The man before her hustled back to the desk and hit a button under it, activating the room's lights. The walls, floor and ceiling were all bare, cold metal, the room being reserved for these 'sessions' specifically, and thus ornament was kept to a minimum. A holo-screen was set into the wall began to flicker to life as a wool robe was settled about her shoulders from the woman who'd stood behind her, the flogger now hanging from the solitary hook a few paces off, other instruments hanging beside it.

The Colonel quickly gestured towards it and ordered "Go stand over there." Her two attendants - originally presented to her as "gifts" from Chairman Yang to seal their alliance - did as bade and Santiago allowed herself a moment to rake over their uncovered physical perfection. The woman's stomach was starting to round with their first child, which only enhanced her beauty…

Colonel Santiago quickly shook herself free from that line of thought; there'd be time enough for that later. She turned to the screen and nodded to the image that resolved there.

"Colonel," saluted the youngish man now facing her.

"Auxiliary Trent," the Colonel saluted in return. "What news?"

"I met with Lal's man, as ordered. Your message for parlay will be delivered to the Commissioner's ear before the next Council convenes."

Santiago schooled her features so not a trace or whisper of the relief that swept through her. This war had been a costly mistake from the start, she understood that now, but how to end it - short of a devastating invasion of Gaian territory that is - had eluded her.

Ironically, it had been her 'attendants' who had provided the idea to use that pusillanimous wimp Lal as a proxy.

"Very good," the Colonel bobbed her head just a fraction, an expansive gesture of praise as any she'd given. "Report to Governor Croll and deliver the following message to his ears alone."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"I want an updated plan for 'Case Eloi'. Do not repeat that." The Colonel mouthed the words, rather than spoke them. She was as confident as anyone about the security measures in place, particularly for this specific room. Still, she also wasn't one to rest a message like this one a single assumption.

"Understood," the Auxiliary saluted and cut the line. The Colonel let her gaze linger on her reflection in the screen, then took a deep breath and closed her eyes against some internal tension.

Corazon opened them, and turned to gaze on the pair with whom she shared both so much of herself. "Are we finished?" rumbled the man, clear and unmistakable evidence of his desires in very clear display. His…their…partner-wife gazed upon her no less openly, no less clearly.

In answer, Corazon tossed the robe away and turned her back to them. "No quarter," was her growled command, the mag-cuffs immediately dragging her to kneel on all fours. There was movement behind her, but the lights had lowered to shadow the same moment her knees had hit the floor, and so she knew not which of her loving tormentors moved and readied themselves.

Corazon Amelia Santiago, Generalissima of the Spartan Federation, relaxed her body as best she could and steeled herself for her coming trial.

* * *

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

My wonderful Co-Author and I would like to thank all of those that have reviewed this story so far - especially those that have given us suggestions. We do appreciate your input and you are our motivation for continuing to work Chiron.

As Always - Ubberscribbler and I make no money from the publication of this story.

Please read, enjoy, and review!

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**Chiron Ecology and Native Lifeforms**

While organic life on Chiron was based on the same four base pairs of amino acids and a double-helix structure to its DNA, with its macro-foundations being carbon chains in water, the overabundance of nitrates in the air, soil and water dictated it would develop in ways that were decidedly alien to the newly-arrived colonists. The limited silicate content of the soil leads the planetary vegetation to economize use of carbon and photosynthesize using organic nitrogen compounds rather than sugars as they would on Earth, rendering them nearly inedible without careful processing and leaving the larger environment very difficult to cultivate for human habitation.

More telling, the entire ecology of Chiron appears to exist in a complex web of symbiotic relationships that resemble a single planetwide feedback loop. In some ways, these symbiotic exchanges are easily observed and understood; the avian Razorbeak and nocturnal Glow Mites both act as 'pollinators' for the blooms and off-shoots (which is their primary food source) of the fungoid organism which is the planet's dominant species, termed Xenofungus by the colonists. Xenofungus takes the form or dense mats of tubular shoots, ranging in size from microscopic to a full foot in diameter, and covering literally thousands of miles of the surface.

It has long proven a natural impediment to navigation over land, a fungal mat having a depth of anywhere between two to 30 yards. In some especially thick mats, a dense cluster of fungal stalks will tend to grow directly upwards and take the form of a central 'tower', which can reach heights of 75 to 100 yards and whose ultimate purpose (if it has any) is presently unknown. The tower itself appears harmless and passive, but any attempt to remove it will result in an attack by various fungal symbionts.

More importantly, the xenofungus is very much a living organism, and responds to external stimuli with varying degrees of aggression. It will for example sometimes 'explode' in a furious bloom, usually in response to extensive terraforming displacing its original mass, which will in turn overwhelm the area and basically return it to its pre-terraformed state. Other times will see sections of parent mass simply 'die off', as if making way for development and expansion by other vegetation (be it native or colonist-planted)

The xenofungus also serves as the primary breeding ground for the most feared and aggressive of Planet's native life: the Mind Worm.

While a single Mind Worm itself is no more than six inches in length and live a relatively dormant existence in the interstices of xenofungal mats, they can and do quickly congregate in a single mass when prompted by either a biochemical signal from the xenofungus or (more rarely) when psionically alerted. These masses, termed 'Boils', can grow to such size that they can completely cover its target; the largest such Boil on record measured twenty-five feet in diameter and engulfed an entire platoon of Spartan troops, all of whom perished in the encounter.

The Mind Worm derives its name from its ability to psionically paralyze its prey, inducing nerve-shattering hallucinations which leave the unfortunate target vulnerable. The worms will then burrow directly into the skulls of the now-helpless animal and plant its larvae within its brain, which hatch within ten days of implantation; the host naturally dies in the process of the larvae burrowing their way out of their skull. This is not to say the Mind Worms are invincible, as their psionic attack can be resisted by well-disciplined troops, and the worms themselves are no less vulnerable to physical attack than any other animal, with its seems a special vulnerability to fire. Additionally it has proven possible to "capture" (or more accurately pacify) and even control worm boils, although only highly-trained Telepaths and Empaths have appeared capable of doing this with any regularity.

Mind Worms are found across the whole of Chiron, with variants even being observed on the open ocean and with a variant that can be airborne. The former, term "Isle of the Deep", is actually a boil whose constituent worms secrete a glue-like adhesive between themselves to maintain their cohesion while still-unexplained biochemical processes within the Isle generate gasses to achieve buoyancy. The Isle is mobile, its outlying members providing propulsion across the water, and is no less aggressive than its land-based counterparts; there are three instances on record where either an ocean-going vessel or a sea-borne colony was attacked and overwhelmed by an Isle.

The third observed variant of the Mind Worm has, to date, been sighted only once. Called "Locusts", the constituent worms of a pre-boil mass were observed spontaneously growing insect-like wings and taking to the air en masse. The Locust swarm/boil then attacked a Morgan-sponsored terraforming operation that was drilling a massive borehole, doing so with surprising (if ineffectual) speed and viciousness. There have been no other recorded instances of Locusts since that one attack, the current thinking being this vector will only appear during especially intense Mind Worm activity or radical disruption to the local environment.

Despite the difference in environments these three variants operate in, there is no real genetic difference to be found between the worms in all three. This has led to some speculation that the Mind Worms themselves are not naturally-evolved creatures, especially in light of their close symbiotic relationship to the xenofungus itself.

There are two additional aggressive life forms that have been occasionally observed by the Unity colonists. The first is an aquatic carnivore called a "Sealurk", which resembles the sea serpents of Earth legend. Exact features and lengths of these monsters are presently unknown, primarily because attacks by them have thus far been rare occurrences. To date, only one has been successfully captured and appears to be an immature specimen; whether anything of use can be learned from it has yet to be seen.

The second is called "Spore Launchers", and is a sessile creature (more plant than animal) that appears sometimes within fresh xenofungal growths. These are composite creatures, with individual 'launcher' organisms clinging to a central tube-like body and operating in communion. While slow moving and all but helpless in close quarters, Launchers are nevertheless dangerous as they can hurl solid masses of xenofungal spores several miles distance at a very rapid clip (firing a single spore projectile every three seconds). Most observed Launchers presently have had just 5-6 members and have not struck further than 10 miles distance; there is however no guarantee this is the upper limit of either their size or range. Additionally, they seem to focus their attacks more upon colonial infrastructure than upon colonists themselves, the spores they launch taking root and triggering an outburst of fungal growth an average of three days later. This has led to speculation that they are key method of xenofungal growth and expansion, although this has yet to be proven under controlled conditions.

These are not the only environmental hazards the Terran colonists face on Planet, as two microbial-based dangers soon surfaced. The first and most common is called "Planet Blight", which is in fact a complex of related diseases that interfered with the chlorophyll photosynthesis of Terran-born plant life. Large stretches of farmland and forests would wither and die out within six to eight days of infection.

Outbreaks were comparatively rare, but invariably damaging as it constantly threatened the food supply upon which colony settlement depended. Worse, it invariably mutated with each successive outbreak, forcing colonists to constantly play 'catch up' in order to contain the disease. And devastating as Planet Blight outbreaks were, they were generally contained events and never directly attacked the human colonists.

The same sadly could not be said for the viral scourge called "Prometheus" (in honor of Prometheus Davro, the UN researcher who identified the specific viral strain). Prior to the global pandemic that erupted in Mission Year 2191, outbreaks of Prometheus tended to occur only within newly-established settlements and were invariably costly. The virus attacked and effectively 'wiped' neuro-chemical transmitters in the human brain and both the voluntary and autonomic nervous system, leaving it victims in a vegetative state while their entire body slowly and painfully shut down. Those who survived were left crippled and insensate as the neurological damage proved irreversible. Fortunately, the virus was found to susceptible to standard antibiotics if treated early enough – no small consideration given the virus was transmitted by physical contact and had an incubation period of one to seven days – but there has been no success in finding a universal vaccine for it.

_Lady Diedre Skye, A Comparative Biology of Planet_

---

**Razorbeak Wood  
Covert Operations HQ  
Commander Skye-Svensgaard's Office  
Day 19**

Beowulf Skye-Svensgaard glanced at his primary advisors curiously – each had wandered into his office for no apparent reason.

It was strange, particularly for Mara Desik who was on shore leave; her wife had only recently given birth to their first child and Mara had shown no inclination to come back early. So in light of Genghis Hakim and Sean Poyet's presences in his office, he couldn't help but think they knew something he didn't, a rare and distinctly unpleasant prospect in its implications.

Genghis, Mara, and Sean had been with him from the beginning. Carefully selected playmates and companions from his earliest days. Luckily they actually liked each other, otherwise Mara would certainly have gelded Sean long ago for his constantly implying he'd planted a spycam in her marital bedroom. By chance, they had all shown an aptitude for the shadier side of Planet life and chose to enter the combined covert operation task force formed in the wake of the Prometheus Crisis and his people's declared independence.

Now, what the hell were they all doing in his office at the same time?

Mara quirked an eyebrow, smirked slyly, and handed him a personnel jacket. "We've been tasked for follow-up vetting, Cap." Complete outlaw as she might have been – to the point of attending mission briefings wearing her gun belt and _absolutely nothing else, _on the theory that if the rest of their team could be distracted by the sight of 'her birthday suit', they had no business in being on that mission – Mara never skimped nor broke the chain of command. That included at least minimal courtesies to rank.

Wolf nevertheless handled the proffered folder delicately, as one might unstable explosives. He only barely managed to sit himself with some measure of dignity as he saw the names of the…individuals…to be 'debriefed'. "Fedotov?" he half-squeaked.

"Yup. The same Irene Fedotov who scored off the charts on three sections of the Aps Exam." Mara couldn't help but grimace as she referenced the _Special Service Operations Aptitude Exam_; it was a five-phase course of nearly-murderous physical and mental punishment, designed with intent to weed out all but the most ruthless and driven of applicants. It was not unheard of for applicants to come out half-crippled or permanently scarred. Mara had met her wife while convalescing from her own Exam-inflicted wounds, as had Sean and Genghis.

The fact the 'bookish' Irene Fedotov had not only completed the course, but did so without suffering worse than a few scratches and scoring so high in the majority of its phases, naturally led to charges of cheating and whatnot. Wolf and company knew better, having reviewed Fedotov's performance several times over, and were anything but shy about 'correcting' those charges whenever they reached earshot.

Wolf raised both eyebrows in Mara's direction silently. She never lost her smile and calmly stared back. The other two rolled their eyes, knowing very well that a staring contest between these two could go on for hours. Genghis decided he didn't have the time in his schedule today to sit in a silent office, waiting for one of them to give. "Yes, Wolf, that Irene Fedotov. She was moldering away at University Base until two weeks ago..."

"Eighteen days ago," Mara put in.

"Fine. Eighteen days ago, when Lady Skye sent Lindley to UB to fetch her home."

Wolf blew a slow breath out his nose, then picked up the folder and paged through it, more for something to do with his hands than shove that damned smirk of Mara's down her throat. He loved the woman half to death, was the godfather to her child, but damned if she didn't know how to push his buttons. "Do we know why she was 'fetched home' so suddenly?"

"Nothing for certain," Sean stated. "The official story her linguistic expertise is needed."

"And the unofficial story?"

"She's got a spot in Project _Inward Bound_."

"You're kidding me." _Inward Bound _was actually an umbrella term for some three dozen separate projects ongoing across Gaian territory, all working towards the singular goal identifying the exact genetic keys that would unlock the psionic and cognitive abilities that to that point had appeared only at random. The Peacekeeper's monopoly of Human Genome data and their wholly understandable reluctance to broadcast it meant Gaian researchers were sorting through DNA and retroviral sequences in painstaking detail.

Wolf scanned the folder's contents and noted - with no small satisfaction - that Fedotov's _curriculum vitae_ had notably lengthened since their last…encounter. Her focus however seemed to be in the 'soft' sciences, sociology and cultural anthropology specifically, rather than then hard ones like chemistry and genetics. Precisely what purpose she could serve in something like Inward Bound was a mystery, and Beowulf Skye-Svengaard disliked mysteries; it meant there were things happening he didn't know about, which in turn meant he wasn't doing his damned job.

Genghis saw the scowl on his face, but misread the reasons behind it. "Oh, grow up, Wolf." He appeared unfazed by the glares directed at him by both his Captain and second-best friend. He was the intermediary between the Covert Ops Corp and the regular military – and so was used to dealing with stubborn jack assess who were convinced they were always right.

Jason's quiet voice interrupted the start of a second staring contest, "Irene will have to be interviewed. Not sure what to do with the other woman," He glanced down at his notes, "Kara Thrace. I suppose we have to interview them both at the same time."

"Why's that?" Wolf asked.

"Because there's a notation next to Thrace's name from your mother: 'Ancient Greek speaker, needs translator'. I don't know of anyone in the Corp with the appropriate clearance that can speak ancient Greek."

Mara snorted derisively, "Irene won't talk to Beowulf. Well, she may say something, but nothing that would be of use in a report." Her smile was sharply amused.

Wolf was doing his best to stem a blush. Yeah, yeah - he had been (and was being) a dumb ass. He knew that very well. He wasn't even really sure why he had washed Irene out despite her performance in the Aps Exams. Well, that was a lie as he knew very well why he washed her out. But as Mara said, it wasn't anything that could go in a report. He rubbed the bridge of his nose in a rare show of annoyance, "Mara, since you felt the need to come into work today, you can interview them. I want a brief by eight bells high tomorrow…"

Her smile cut him off. "I didn't realize that my maternity leave would be cut short if I showed my face in the office. I thought I was just visiting friends." She paused, then pointedly continued with "I suppose I could call a Corps representative to lodge a complaint..."

Oh yeah, he really needed a mess like that right now. He really needed to remember why Mara was considered the best interrogator in the Corps: she was probably one of the most creatively manipulative people on Planet. Usually, she didn't turn it on anyone she cared about.

He quirked his lip - okay, he was still being a jackass. "Genghis..." Wolf quirked his lip as the man began shaking his head. He glanced at Jason hopefully.

"I have a stretch of two hours in the afternoon. I'll drop by and chat with Irene." He leaned back in his chair and spoke with a practiced casual tone, "Not sure how extensive I should be - you saw a summary of her initial briefings. She was pretty thoroughly vetted before she was allowed to meet the other woman."

Wolf eyed each of them in turn, noting Sean's delicate probing as to what he was expected to ask, at least as far as Irene Fedotov was concerned. Wolf was tempted to simply tell him _I want to know everything,_ but that would just be another lie; strong as he was, Beowulf knew himself well enough to recognize there were some things he just wasn't up to handling, at least not without a lot of his mother's whiskey stash.

So he kept his directive simple. "Just get some initial impressions and confirm was is in the report. No need to make her do all of it again."

---

**Lady Skye's Private Office  
Gaia's Landing  
Monsoon Jungle  
Day 21**

"You're sending me where?"

Lindley's bland tone made Diedre smile – the yonger woman only spoke this way when she was insulted. "Free Drone Central. I want you to speak with Foreman Domai about Captain Thrace's aircraft."

"My Lady, surely Doctor Kebe would be a better envoy."

"Perhaps, but he's otherwise occupied."

"You do realize that I am not a diplomat? Or at all pleasant when someone pisses me off? Or that every time I see Domai he hits on me?"

Diedre's smile became a chuckle, "Yes, Lindley, I know. That is precisely why I am sending you."

Lindley growled in frustration. "Because that tactic has worked so _well_ in the past. I just ask him to build a strange and heretofore unknown design for an alien vessel and he is going to do it without any qualms because you make me wear a tight shirt."

Diedre raised both eyebrows in mock surprise, "_You_ own a flattering shirt? As in, feminine and attractive? I thought you swore those off years ago!"

Lindley's flawless dark brown skin blushed and that made her angry, which made her swear like a Pirate sailor. That caused Diedre to laugh for several seconds before calming into grinning widely at her young body guard. Lindley's bright blue eyes, compliments of her Irish father, flashed menacingly.

Diedre just waited her companion out. It only took a few moments of sullen silence for Lindley to give, "As the Lady wishes. I'll go, but understand it's not _my_ fault if this deal doesn't happen. Got it?"

Still highly amused, Diedre spoke in a deliberately solemn voice, "I understand completely, Ms. Mahon." She reached into the drawer on her right and handed Lindley the data pad with the schematics of the vessel their technicians and engineers had managed to cobble together from visual and sonar examination.

The supervising engineer had been emphatic that at least two-thirds of the data was educated guesswork, and the propulsion system was a complete unknown. It was a higher percentage of unknowns than Deirdre might have otherwise accepted, but she wanted to get a jump on this before word about Thrace leaked out to the other factions; bad enough a single probe team had managed to get a look at her.

Returning her attention to Lindley, she stated "You depart in 30 minutes. I took the liberty of having Analee pack you a bag. It is waiting on the flight deck for you." Her eyes twinkled, "And you _know_ Analee: if there is anything remotely feminine in your wardrobe, she packed it for you."

Lindley bit back a retort, a flash in Deirdre's eyes stopping it dead, and stomped out of the office.

---

**Free Drone Central  
Borehole Cluster, East of Emperyon Bay  
Northern Coast, Pangea Continent  
Day 21**

_Free Drone Central_ was something of an architectural wonder. After the initial revolt in which the Drones gained their independence, they literally buried the Hive buildings in place and built their city _above_ the ground, erecting a bustling community of towering buildings, large doorways and corridors with high, airy ceilings. The use of plas-glass was common since the Drone's preferred aesthetic includes as much natural light as can be managed. They couldn't begin to rival Gaian settlements in terms of beauty and attractiveness, but it was literally as far from the utilitarian Hive style as could be.

Lindley stepped out of the light transport onto the colorfully tiled deck of the public landing pad and paused to appreciate the well kept central gathering area that served as a hub for getting anywhere in the city. Her appreciation was cut short when she noticed that the vaunted Foreman was not there to greet her.

A terrible thought hit and Lindley checked through the bag Analee had packed for her. Lady Skye was correct and the idiot woman had not packed anything remotely appropriate for a formal meeting with a faction leader. So, if she wanted to be taken at all seriously she needed to see Domai _today,_ or risk not being able to launder her current outfit in time for a meeting tomorrow, which would leave her with just...

A well kept young man, probably one of Domai's personal engineers, approached and addressed her respectfully. "Ms. Mahon. We are pleased that you are visiting us again. The Foreman sends his regrets, but he will be unable to meet you this evening."

Lindley resisted the urge to groan. "When will the Foreman deign to see me?" she managed to ask without snarling.

The young man blinked at her, evidentially confused. "You weren't informed he was away? Ah, apologies, Ms. Mahon. There was a mine collapses near Freedom's Foundry and the Foreman wished to extend his personal condolences to the families of those who lost their lives. He will meet with you tomorrow morning."

She felt a small bit of hope and relief bloom in her chest, maybe she would be able to show up to the meeting in these cloths, the appropriate ones, not stinking like a sweaty college freshman. "What time?"

"The Foreman has cleared the first quarter of first shift tomorrow morning for your appointment."

She quickly converted the designated period to Gaian timekeeping, unable to help the curse that escaped. The Drones had very strict restrictions on working hours, and the Foreman was seeing her at Six Bells Low, which meant it was good odds Domai would extend an oh-so-polite invitation to join her for breakfast. Worse, the early hour meant she was going to have to wear what Analee packed her.

Lindley kept her expression pleasant as the younger engineer led her to the rooms assigned to her for the day, careful to keep her thoughts – all of which revolved around silent exclamations of _Fucking idiot girl…and damn Skye for letting it happen! - _to herself.

---

**Foreman's Office  
Day 22**

Domai eyed the woman across from him with some amusement. Lindley Mahon was uncomfortable but making a game effort at hiding it. Her clothing was very much _not_ her usual style – the deeply red, form fitting turtle neck sweater and silky black pants suited her dark skin and bright eyes wonderfully. Lady Skye or one of her other retainers must have chosen it for her, knowing he would certainly appreciated the view.

He supposed he was lucky that he got to see this having no doubt that if he had met with her last night she would have been wearing something she deemed much more appropriate (and infinitely less flattering to her personally). Domai decided that he would resist asking her to join him for a late breakfast; she would probably refuse much more vehemently than normal - given her level of anger at her current wardrobe and indignation of having to wear it for him.

"So, what can I do for Lady Skye this time?"

Lindley produced the data tablet, placing it on his desk and leaned back in her seat. "We have recently taken a new direction in aircraft design. Lady Skye would like to offer you the opportunity to work up a prototype and figure out what resources we would have to commit for full scale production."

Intrigued, Domai began scrolling through the design specifications for this supposed innovation. Avionics wasn't his specialty, but even he could see how, compared to the current generation of fighter craft, this _thing_ was an inelegant mess: boxy, awkward, and looking decidedly too top-heavy for the type of tactical flight that would be required of a fighting craft. There was no way this aircraft could survive a straight-up engagement with even a first generation needlejet.

That said, he was fascinated by the design and could draw a few conclusions. First and foremost, this was _not_ a Gaian design, and he would lay good odds it hadn't originated on Planet either. Second, while it was clear it was not a tactical fighter craft, the shape and projected internal volume indicated it was some kind of utility craft; if the size of the engines were accurate, the craft was expected to carry a sizable load. And third, if the dimensions of the aircraft on these schematics were to proper scale, it would take the most advanced construction techniques to produce a frame light enough to get this thing off the ground.

He glanced back up at Lindley, both eyebrows raised and stared for several seconds. "Interesting design. Who spearheaded this initiative?" He watched closely for any reaction at all, and wasn't disappointed there wasn't one to be had. She could be a poker champion, except for the ever so slight contraction in her neck indicating she swallowed before she responded.

"Kebe has been heading the project..."

Domai found he had to fight _not_ to laugh (in delight). Hence his waiting a beat before declaring "You're lying, and not all that well either. I know Dr. Kebe's work right well, and he would _never_ put his name on something like this." He held up the tablet and stated "Tell me who holds the intellectual rights to this design and I will think about it."

Domai got some satisfaction from utterly shocking the young Empath. While he waited for her to formulate a suitable reply, he wondered again just how long it was going to take for the rest of Planet to realize he wasn't an idiot.

She seemed to sputter for a few seconds, and tried again. "It is the intellectual property of the Stepdaughters…"

"For all that you are, Ms. Mahon, a diplomat you are not. Even you must realize that lying to allies is the very worst way to secure cooperation."

He had no doubt that she was internally seething. He was enjoying himself now, and not simply because Lindley Mahon was acting like a human being for a change. It was actually a bit fun to have the Gaian's over a barrel for once.

"I don't have the authority to release that information to you." Lindley sounded like she was pulling teeth saying this.

"If that is the best you can do, then no, we will not produce this for you." He tossed the pad back to her and watched her catch it, fingers gripping it in anger.

She stood and stomped toward the door. He felt safe grinning since she wasn't even facing him. She reached out to exit his office and paused. He waited for her to make her decision and was not disappointed to see her turn around glaring, "Lady Skye will contact you by the end of the day."

"I am looking forward to it."

She nodded at him stiffly and stormed out of his office.

Once his office door shut, the Foreman counted to sixty - twice, then reached into a drawer and retrieved a tablet similar to the one Lindley had brought him. Activating it, he scrolled through the data it had passively copied.

Once he was satisfied he had everything he could have safely copied – and amazingly it looked like it was everything he'd seen – Domai stood and left the office in search of his master engineers. This was something he didn't dare trust go over the comms or datalinks.

---

**U.N. Headquarters**

**Freshwater Sea, westernshore**

**Day 32**

The Hammarskjöld reading room was no different from the dozen others spread throughout the U.N. protectorate. Indeed, such rooms were invariably one of first facilities added to their bases and outposts. What made the Hammarskjöld room so significant was how it was 'swept' three times a day for all manner of surveillance devices that might have found their way in there, this being an open secret to all as a counter to the equally-open secret that Commissioner Pravin Lal used the room to receive 'covert' briefings from his more trusted aides.

The afternoon sweep had just concluded, leaving Commissioner Lal alone with two others. His long-time companion and trusted right hand, Sarita Duvall, was paging through a reproduction of Plato's Republic as was her habit during these briefings. The room's only other occupant as Lal's metaphorical left hand, Ian Mushcharev, who was seated at the Commissioner's elbow and speaking into the older man's attentive ear.

"And the Generalissama's man confirmed that an offer by you to act as mediator would meet with a positive response."

"And Lady Skye? Has she agreed as well?"

"Her aide has promised that so long as Santiago is open and committed to negotiation and possible cessation of the war, the Stepdaughters would be as well."

Lal nodded, the tension that he'd hidden for so long finally, visibly easing. "Good. Perhaps we'll see some good from this next Council." The war between the Gaian alliance and the Spartan/Hive collective had been a constant source of worry and a serious destabilization of the political balance that had been previously achieved.

It had been barely a generation since the Prometheus Virus had exploded and swept across Chiron, decimating all sides and further fracturing their already-fractious mission. Each faction was only just getting their numbers up to pre-plague levels, so any armed conflict (large or small) threatened to undo those small gains.

This thought reminded Mushcharev of another piece of business. "Sir? A final thing you should be made aware of."

"Yes?"

"We, ahem, intercepted a transmission from within Gaia's Landing."

"Oh?" There was a clear hint of disapproval to this simple sound – unlike many other of his contemporaries, he disapproved of such information gathering tactics, it flew in the face of what he believed. Mushcharev swallowed his dismay at hearing it and quickly pressed on.

"Yes, sir. Our monitors at Amnesty Town picked it up and flagged it for analysis."

"And what did this message say that was of such interest?"

"It was…a birthday greeting."

Lal frowned, attempting to puzzle out the import of such a message. His frown only deepened when it was clear he could not. "And…?"

"Well, the content of message wasn't anything. It was the message itself that was odd." He paused for effect, then added "More specifically, it modulation."

Sarita didn't look away from her book as she asked "A data shadow?"

Mushcharev bobbed his head sharply, "Exactly so."

"A message hidden within the message. Someone among the Gaians sending an encoded transmission within this supposed birthday greeting?" Lal essentially scoffed at the thought. Lady Skye was as well known for her distaste of such covert machinations as Lal himself. "Unlikely it was a citizen."

"That's understood, sir. More likely a Probe Team operating there."

"Do we have a destination for the transmission?" Sarita queried. All three knew full well the destination was likely just a relay point for the message's true target. It wasn't unknown or unheard of that such teams would transmit to a faction other than their own, usually as a ploy to blame a third party for the incursion. It even worked sometimes, although this was more the exception than the rule, as Prokhor Zakharov learned shortly before he and his faction were so thoroughly crushed by the Gaians.

Still, such tricks were common enough fare in the nonstop covert war the factions all engaged in. Thus it was automatically assumed the intended destination of such transmissions was not the genuine terminus for it.

"What was the content of the shadow data?" Commissioner Lal requested.

"Ah, delicate point there. Our analysts are still chewing it over. The encryption process is…unusual."

"How so?"

"The distorted modulation of the signal trips us to it, but the 'Shade' itself appears to be in a broken shuffle." Sarita groaned aloud while Lal simply frowned harder. The covert message itself – the 'Shade' – had been broken down into basic binary, those constituent bytes then being jumbled up, like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle getting thrown up in the air and allowed to land wherever they might.

Identifying and reconstituting the bytes back into their original sequence chain was a chore normally left for specialized software. Sinder Roze and her Data Angels held a veritable monopoly on said software, although several factions (themselves included) had managed to reverse engineer some of the program's code and come up with their own filters. It was an imperfect process and still required a lot of manual examination.

"Thankfully for us," Mushcharev continued. "Whoever encrypted the Shade was either incompetent or in a hurry."

Lal perked up a bit. "We've managed to reconstruct it already?" Good as their filter programs were, it still took the UN analysts months of work to fully reconstruct 'Shades' that had been jumble-encrypted.

"Partially, sir." Mushcharev retrieved a single sheet of glossy paper from his jacket's inner pocket. It showed a blurry monochrome image of a woman, one with longish, light-colored hair and one arm drawn back, as if about to deliver a blow.

"Who is she?"

"We've no idea, sir. The detail is sufficient that we can confirm she's not a previously known part of Lady Skye's inner circle."

Lal grunted, and handed the picture to Sarita. He didn't seriously expect her to have any better insights, but the woman had a tendency to surprise. "I'm to presume our analysts are still working on this."

"Of course."

"Very well. We'll keep this under wraps for the moment." Lal stood, followed by both aides.

"Not that we know what 'this' is," Sarita put in, handing the picture back to Mushcharev.

The Commissioner nodded to this and said "Go over known movements into, out of, and within Gaian lands over the last two months. That might provide some clues as to who this woman is." Without a further word or gesture, he quit the room entirely, leaving the aides to confer between themselves.

---

**Razorbeak Wood**

**Suite Two-A, Third Level, Admin Wing**

**Day 33**

"How d' th' war star'?"

Irene looked up from her data tablet in surprise. Kara had made some measurable progress in mastering English, although her pronunciation was still rough and its came off more like Pidgin English – understandable, but only just.

Her charge was evidentially aware of this and had been reticent (to put it mildly) about initiating conversation. Hence it taking a couple beats for Irene to grasp the question itself. "You mean…you mean the one with the Spartans? The current one?"

Kara nodded, but answered in her native tongue. "_Yeah. I'd like to make sure my people have a planet to settle on when they get here. Preferably one that hasn't blown itself to the Tartarus Pits first_."

Irene felt her mouth quirk at the image and the sentiment, further proof Kara's artistic streak evidentially extended to the verbal as well as the visual. She stared out the window thoughtfully before answering, her hesitation partially due to trying to decide exactly how far back her explanation should go, the rest of it whether to answer in English or Colonial.

She ultimately settled on the former option and decided KISS was a good guide here. "The Spartan Federation had established a base called 'Fort Legion' right along our central border about, oh, twenty years back. It was fairly close to one of our own base, The Flowers Preach. You can see the ruins from the observation deck here if you look due east. The two bases served as a 'gateway' for travelers and diplomats between the two territories."

Kara tilted her head, curious about this lecture and what it had to do with a war. Irene, not seeing the questioning look continued, "Fort Legion was a fairly large and prosperous base with a healthy population numbering nearly 10 thousand Spartan citizens."

"Tha' all? S'not tha' big."

Irene smirked. "For us here, it is…was. Why? How many of your people should we expect?"

"Depends," Kara gave a single-shoulder-shrug. "Thirty or so thou'sen."

Irene had to school her reaction carefully, digesting this small bombshell Kara had so carelessly dropped. The last census put the combined populations of the Lords Believers, the Cybernetic Consciousness, and the Data Angels at just under 30,000. Kara's people, if they chose to remain as one community, would instantly become the third or fourth largest faction on Planet.

She gave herself a small shake and counted her blessings that it wasn't an even higher number, one that reached seven digits and would have permanently altered the political and social dynamics on Planet in ways she didn't want to contemplate; at least, not without a good bottle of Neo-Russian Vodka.

She noticed Kara was looking at her expectantly, so Irene resumed her narrative. "Four years ago, a very complex virus planted in the base's mainframe activated. The results were…awful. The virus locked the base down and isolated separate sectors from each other. It vented the breathable atmosphere and reprogrammed the life support systems to pump out a noxious mixture of methane and carbon dioxide. What's worse, it even managed to subvert the purposely separated life support systems attached to the Children's Creche."

Kara frowned. "Um, 'Creh-chuh'? Wus' that?"

"A nursery designed to care for children during the day - it doubles as a bunker in times of war or disaster. It is one of the first things most new settlements build after they've been established." She shook her head, a pained expression on her face. "Nearly one thousand children died in the first 10 minutes of the incident, followed by more than sixty percent of the rest of the base over the next day and a half."

Kara was silent for a moment, wondering why the death of less than seven thousand people felt like a worse tragedy than the genocide of her people. "How'd they stop it?"

"The Spartans on the whole may be militants and a little trigger-happy, but they do have some very skilled computer programmers. Lady Skye sent in teams to assist as soon as we learned what happened, and a team of network programmers worked together to isolate the virus and purge it from vital systems."

She clenched her jaw and laughed humorlessly, "Unfortunately, it was a very well designed virus – exceedingly adaptable. When it detected that it was slowly being contained, it re-formatted itself. It took over four hours to clear critical systems of it, and we're still not sure if it was completely purged."

"S'if you guys hel' an' wiped the vi'us, why're you at war?"

Irene shifted uncomfortably and a frown bloomed on her face, "Initially the Spartans did not blame the Gaians for the virus - the two factions worked together on the investigation." She stared out over the sea, not really seeing anything. "Not there was too much to investigate. A stray piece of code, locked in the Command Center's secondary computer was the only evidence left."

Kara frowned, but remained silent. "Someone had the bright idea to give copies to a team of linguists. Computer code is just another language – who better to analyze that language than those that study languages for a living? Anyway, I was a grad student at the time, but my dissertation advisor was involved and let me take a look."

"Uh'd you see?"'

"My initial impressions were that the virus' author was born on Earth and was very familiar with old West African languages." She shrugged, "Not terribly helpful – that description fit about a quarter of Planet's population. But it was the best we could come up with. The Spartans took our suppositions and came to a conclusion that we didn't expect."

"Blamed you?"

Irene nodded, "They blamed Lady Skye, citing Lindley's connection to the West African country Guinea-Bissau. Lindley was born on Planet, but her mother was born in Guinea-Bissau and her father lived there for several years – that's how they met. They were both fluent in several African dialects and they taught Lindley – she is actually one of the foremost experts on West African culture on Planet and she can program...Not well, but she has some ability." Irene shook her head, "They used my conclusions against Lady Skye and declared a vendetta."

---

**Sparta Command**

**Central Command, 17th Floor**

**Day 34**

Generalissima Corazon Santiago stood, hands clasped behind her back, staring out over the well ordered streets of Sparta Command - seeking what calm that orderly layout of concrete and steel might offer. Her eyes drifted shut for a moment, taking her back to that dark room where her two _Attendants _routinely forced her to face truths that she otherwise avoided. None would ever dare call Santiago a coward, but she knew her emotional limits well enough to know when it was a matter of too-much-intel.

She was suffering such an overload at that very moment, although both the origin and the source (being two wholly different things in this case) had blindsided her so totally, Corazon found herself needing to literally turn away from it all so to gather herself.

Yes, she was as used to subterfuge as her peers. It was even expected in many ways, the great Secret War of probe teams and deception having become a constant in the lives of the colonists. The Federation fielded many such teams across Planet, and Santiago was under no illusions at least as many were in play within her territory. Nevertheless she had always prided herself on honorable dealings with both rivals and allies alike, but equally was always at the ready to meet subterfuge and espionage with the same.

Being forced to recognize Yang's betrayal of her people and, more critically, their alliance had certainly hurt her pride. Defeat was a common enough fate in a soldier's life, and not something to necessarily be feared or ashamed of. That one did one's duty was paramount, and it was on _that_ score that Santiago felt the sting of bitterness from the realization (fair or not) that she'd actually abdicated her duty to her people at _Fort Superiority_.

Behind her, Aidia Ortega waited patiently for the Colonel to gather her thoughts. Lt. Ortega was an exceptional computer technician – she had a seemingly natural gift for understanding and manipulating the program code that protected their lives. And her most recent findings merely sharpened that sting to a full-bleeding wound. Corazon trusted her implicitly, the woman being a confirmed Thinker, and therefore trusted her findings. The implications were truly shameful.

"Can you trace back to the originator of this…thing?" she asked quietly of the smaller woman.

Ortega did not hesitate in answering. "I am attempting to do so, Colonel. But I can make no promises."

Santiago nodded once then returned her attention to the world outside. She no longer saw the streets and expanse of her headquarters, but rather the full vista and range of her folly.

This war with a once trusted ally in which there had already been too many lives lost and had damaged both factions unacceptably – all because of a well placed computer glitch. She had waged an unprovoked war upon an innocent faction; all the while the true murders were watching the two most powerful factions on Planet weaken and wear each other down. The perpetrators most likely were just waiting to stab them both in the back.

She wanted to lean against the window and let the glass cool her forehead, but she was a Spartan and Spartans did not give in to a situation, they mastered it. Corazon Santiago did not bow to the pressures of her office.

"Excellent work as always, Lt. Ortega. You will be suitably rewarded. Dismissed." She motioned for the woman to take her leave. Ortega came to attention, saluted in requisite fashion, and quit the room.

Once she was alone, Corazon strode back to her desk and stared at the pads detailing precisely what the saboteurs had done and how they had framed the Gaians. Sloppy work, according to Ortega. More accurately, it had been sloppy use of an otherwise excellent tool; the equivalent to trying to use a katana sword as a surgeon's scalpel. Santiago appreciated the imagery, which only underscored how badly she'd misjudged the situation.

Ortega had been clear that, having reverse-engineered the original code, the virus shouldn't have done worse than disengaging all manual locks within _Fort Legion_. She would take the young woman's word for it, because she sure as hell couldn't see the point of such an action. But the damned thing had been _modified_, perhaps not with the devastation it had wrought in mind...or perhaps with something worse in mind. Only the fact those modifications had been done with somewhat less competence than the original creators had allowed Ortega to find the truth.

A truth that left Corazon Santiago cold with rage and fear; the former was directed outwards, and gave her incentive to find the party responsible for this atrocity. But it was the latter emotion that was momentarily dominant, and purely because of what she knew her next action had to be. Her duty as _Generalissima_ of the Spartan Federation demanded it of her.

Corazon stared at her personal communications device pensively. At this moment, only Ortega and she knew of this new evidence. It would be so easy to just purge the information and continue with the war – save face and her reputation…

She shook her head, disgusted she even entertained the thought. It was not what she stood for; it was too close to the machinations of the Hive and Morgan. She would not become either of those lying cowards.

With a final, deep breath, Santiago reached over to the touchscreen monitor embedded into the desk itself, tapping in a code she'd used very infrequently in the past four years.

---

**Gaia's Landing**

**Lady Skye's Quarters**

Deirdre Skye kept her personal quarters at Gaia's Landing simply decorated; she had little need or desire for an endless assortment of useless 'dust gatherers' that would just add to a long list of chores that needed to be attended to - she was busy enough with running her faction and serving as Planetary Governor. She chose instead to use color and the occasional piece of art to decorate her overly large living space. What resulted was streamlined and modern but still warm and inviting room.

She allowed herself only a small number of luxuries. One was the large feather stuffed bed that sat facing the bank of 15 foot tall windows overlooking the alien beauty of the Monsoon Jungle's mix of green and pink fungal blooms and the occasional Earth born wooded tree.

Another of those luxuries, Ulrik Svensgaard, was currently sharing her very luxurious bed and that spectacular view with her. Despite his reputation as a ladies man, Ulrich was faithful and steady - an equal partner in raising their son. Oh, he flirted with the young beauties that tried to lure him away but in the whole time they had been sexually involved he had never strayed.

Svengaard was, at that moment busy kissing his way down her back as she lounged face-down on the mattress, chin and arms dangling over the edge. Deirdre didn't even try to stifle the giggles elicited when his unshaven chin brushed her lower back, tail-bone, and the tops of her buttocks. The man knew her body intimately enough to know _exactly_ where to brush and press to drive her past ecstasy again. That familiar, carnal tattoo was starting its beat within her once more, which in turn had her rolling onto her back and reaching down to cup the Pirate Captain's cheeks.

"Stuh…stop," Deirdre forced out, at once breathless and panting. Ulrik's good right eye shone in the day's twilight, bright and piercing, studying her with a care that bordered on the fiery.

"Too much?" he rumbled, and Deirdre nodded, tugging him up to lie down beside her. He unfolded his lean frame and settled himself where she bade. Deirdre kissed his still sweaty shoulder and rested her head on his chest. These silent moments were rare enough; if it wasn't Lindley interrupting about the newest catastrophe, it was Beowulf barging in to tell her of intel gathered that pointed to a planetary crisis of 'epic proportions'. Not that either would bother her with something trivial - it was the constant stream of details that needed to be attended to that made these calm moments so prized.

She allowed her eyes to drift shut and listen to Ulrich's steady heartbeat. They both started violently when a distinct tone broke the silence. She glared at her personal communication console. She knew that ring - Santiago was calling.

She couldn't help a glare. The woman had the absolute worst timing. This was the first time in months that they both had truly free time, and beyond that Deirdre wasn't sure she had the patience to put up with another round of baseless accusations over who started this damned war.

As a measure of her displeasure, and in order to gauge just how badly Corazon wanted to speak with her, Deirdre remained where she was. She even left her hand drift down along Ulrich's lean, solid form, palm resting momentarily on his left hip…before letting it start to drift to the right…

The console chimed again.

Ulrik kissed her forehead and advised, "Ignore the paranoid bitch."

---

**Sparta Command**

Corazon bit her tongue, not a little irked the first call was ignored entirely by the other party. Even if Lady Skye was otherwise engaged – which was a distinct possibility – her aide would have answered, if only to inform her of Skye being 'unavailable'. Santiago forced herself to remain seated, take a calming breath, and try again. This was far too important to let her temper win; and not merely because honor and reputation were at stake.

This time the channel opened to reveal the pacifist that was methodically handing her ass to her in this war. It was **immediately** obvious that Skye had been roused from bed - even more so that the woman had not been sleeping – and it was an easy guess to figure out whom Skye would be spending such time with. Santiago supposed it would be polite to invite Svensgaard to participate in their conversation – it did, after all, affect him too.

"You and Svensgaard are going to want to see what one of my techs found…"

---

**Gaia's Landing**

Deidre had to hand it to the woman, she wasn't slow or stupid. Her gaze found her lover sitting across from her, patiently waiting. She motioned for him to join her front of the consol. He rose and stood behind her – arms crossed over his bare chest.

A few seconds of silence passed. Deidre counted 15 before Santiago sighed and began speaking. "At 1800 standard this day, one of my most talented network programmers was culling through archived data from _Fort Liberty_ in preparation of your imminent attack on _Assassins Redoubt_." Neither Deirdre nor Ulrik so much as blinked at this news; it was no real secret _Assassins Redoubt_, which had been rebuilt after being depopulated by a Mind Worm attack in MY 2146, would be their next objective since _Fort Superiority_ fell. "She came across several lines of irregular code that led to her to investigate further. She discovered the 'trap door' that was responsible for venting the base."

Deidre tried to interrupt, but Santiago barreled on, "Further investigation led her to the conclusion that your own computer systems were hijacked to do this, making it appear as though you carried out this attack. She discovered these subroutines in two more of our base mainframes."

Ulrich's voice sounded shocked, "What else did this tech find?"

"Several traps in the Gaian's systems. And one into your own."

"Is this woman reliable?"

"The best at what she does."

Deidre was sure that this was one of those surreal dreams that you were aware of and could somehow control. Ulirch's warm hand on her shoulder surprised her into glancing into Santiago's eyes, "What does this mean?"

Svensgaard answered for them all, "It means that someone manipulated the three of us into a war that has cost us all too much in resources and lives lost." He stares at his former leader, someone he respected until the outbreak of this latest war, "It means that we have strategy to discuss."

---

**Razorbeak Wood**

**North Eastern Peninsula, Pangea Continent**

**Suite Two-A, Third Level, Admin Wing**

**Day 36**

Kara frowned at her reflection critically. She pulled up her top and turned to the side, eyeing the swell of her abdomen. It was barely noticeable at this point, but she remembered how Sharon looked toward the end of her pregnancy – it was going to get bigger. She sighed and tugged her shirt down.

Irene was tapping away at that tablet she always had with her these days: making notes from their latest session in her on-going re-education in spoken communication. It seemed that Irene had pretty well mastered standard Colonial, and the daily lessons she put Kara through had been extensive and as intense as anything she'd gone through at the Academy.

Kara knew she wasn't book smart by any measure and frankly had hated any kind of school setting, but something in Irene's manner had her motivated to master the fundamentals of their language. Neverthless it was slow going - Kara was never much for languages, and the alphabet they used was positively bizarre in its simplicity. It was barely two dozen characters and a handful of punctuation marks, with no accent markings or specialized characters to separate tenses or cases or context.

Not to say it was easy. Whereas Caprican, Middle Piconese, and Modern Tauron each used a unique alphabet, the differences between them were subtle to the point of irrelevance, and all shared the same base structure and essential rules. But 'Ahagn-gleesh' seemed to lack any kind of grammatical coherence whatsoever, with context of a sentence or a paragraph dictating the tense and meaning of the words involved. It was frustrating and frequently had her stomping off the gym to pound a punch-bag. Gods alone knew how Irene stood it, but Kara appreciated her patience more than she could ever say.

She was about to tug down her tunic when she felt an odd fluttering. She could not help the surprised exclamation or the reflexive motion of her hand coming to rest on her stomach. Kara was suddenly ecstatic. This feeling was unlike anything she had ever experienced before and she wanted it to happen again. She stood motionless, hoping that she would feel the baby kicking again. Her patience was rewarded by another flutter.

Kara didn't want to share this with even Irene. She needed some time to process it. She allowed her shift to drop, covering her again. She stepped out of the head and caught sight of Irene sitting on her bed on the other side of the apartment. The brunette looked completely engrossed in what she was doing so Kara left her alone and quietly exited their quarters.

She wandered somewhat aimlessly for several minutes, enjoying the colors and fresh scents. There was no metallic taste to the air – a very nice change. It was clean and non-recycled. She _actually _liked it here, felt as if she _belonged here, _more so than nearly any other place she could recall...save _Galactica_, of course. More to the point, she knew she belonged here now, this was the 'special destiny' so many had sought to impress on her. Thank the Gods, it wasn't being the Harbinger of a new beginning or anything that dramatic. She was happy to have the modest destiny of being a mother.

Kara wandered into the Tree Farm, enjoying the cool night air and its many scents. Razorbeak Wood was smaller, a lot smaller, than Gaia's Landing, lacking the feel of history behind it. But it was relaxing all the same. Her movements had been under such restrictions at Landing – understandably so – that just being allowed to wander through the preserves there for a few hours had been a treat. Here, she could leave her rooms whenever she cared so long as she remained within the defined perimeter of the base itself or wander too far off the small beach it sat near.

They hadn't allowed her to go out of her rooms for the all days after her arrival, reminding her uncomfortably of New Caprica. Irene and the medical staff had been apologetic but firm on that score, going on at length over the many environmental and health issues Chiron – or "Planet", as they apparently preferred – presented.

Kara understood it intellectually, but the emotional toll of such confinement had her tossing her meals more often than not. The medical guys hadn't seemed too concerned about such a reaction on her part, instead making sure she took a lot of vitamin supplements and drank a lot of fruity juices. This all left Kara to wonder if they knew something she didn't about her little passenger.

A voice beside her caused Kara to start suddenly. "Good evening, Captain." Deirdre Skye stood there, looking calm and relaxed as Kara herself.

"Lad'ee Sk-aye," she enunciated. If Deirdre felt any offense at such a hard pronunciation of her name, she gave no sign.

"It's good to see you out and about, Captain."

"Um, thanks." Kara nodded to their surroundings. "Nice, um, for'st."

Lady Skye grinned. "Thank you, although to be fair, it wasn't my people who planted the original seedlings."

"No? Then who?"

"Ah, odd story there. You see, when our colony ship was on final approach to Planet, we suffered a major...mishap." Kara raised her eyebrows, a signal for her to continue. "I'll explain another day, if that's alright. The short version is our mission team, um, fell apart as thoroughly as our ship did. Some of the supply pods of the ship fell to the surface in the oddest places. The one that crashed here, where we're standing, must have been part of the hydroponics section and had some of the automated cultivators aboard it."

"Which di' wha'?"

"Well, apparently the impact was 'soft' enough where it didn't destroy the equipment, but simply activated it. By the time our scouts made it this far north, the cultivators had successfully planted and nursed this forest. It was a very lucky find, as our original surveys basically wrote most of this region off as uninhabitable."

Kara took another look around, recalling Irene had called these particular trees 'White Pine'. If she remembered her botany correctly, there were similar trees on Virgon. Those weren't nearly as tall or as green as these. She reached out to touch the needles on the lowest branch, fascinated.

"Were these trees part of tha'?"

"No, actually," Lady Skye shook her head, thick hair swishing in the night wind. "They were planted as this base was being built. This tree has always been my favorite, the scent is beautiful."

Kara nodded in agreement, not really knowing what to say. Skye clasped her hands behind her back and walks toward the nearby beach. Kara followed, curious about what she needed to say so badly that she made the trip here.

As if sensing the unasked question, Lady Skye nodded towards the small cluster of xenofungus sitting at the border of the evergreens. Kara frowned and watched carefully, surprised to see a collection of long-legged birds rubbing their multicolored beaks on the fungal stalks with great care. Equally surprising was the tiny balls of light drifting close to the ground, moving with clear purpose and 'sucking up' the pink spores there. Lady Skye spoke with quiet reverence of this strange tableau.

"Observe the Razorbeak as it tends so carefully to those fungal blooms, Captain. See? Just the right bit from the yellow pod, then a swatch from the pink. There, see the Glow Mites? Not a single fallen spore missed as they gather them up. Mark my words: someone or something is managing the ecology of this planet. That same something might have brought you here as well."

Kara tilted her head in confusion, "Why?"

"That, I hope, is something we'll learn together."

---

Five Bells High sounded, and Kara had elected to continue wandering the beach for a spell. Deirdre had returned to the base, to sit near the Science Tower's main entrance, which gave her a clear enough view of both the beach and its solitary wanderer. After her revelation Deidre got the feeling that Kara wanted some time alone. Deidre, however, felt compelled to stay. This woman was endlessly fascinating, not the least for how she seemed to implicitly understand the boundary of the energy barrier.

"If I didn't know better, I would think you were about to dump me for her," Ulrik Svengaard sat down beside her, the chiding tone of his words so contrived Deirdre felt no worry.

She smiled slightly and glanced to her right at Ulrik, "My desire of her is purely professional."

"Oh?" The mariner made a show of appraising the other woman's movements. "And how much does she charge?" Deirdre snapped a look at him, shocked and ready to give him what-for, only to realize he'd once again managed to catch her out using her own words.

"Hmm. Perhaps 'platonic' would be a better description."

"The daughter you never got to have?"

Deidre shook her head, "No. She is...special. She shows an intuitive sense of energy and power. Watch - you see how she navigates the energy barrier? People who have lived here for years still run into it. This is the first time she has ever been on this beach, Thrace knows instinctively the boundaries."

"You did say she is a Transcend. What else do you think she can do?"

Whatever Deirdre's response would have been was cut short at the sudden screech of incoming ordinance cutting through the twilight. Their guards were shouting, but Ulrik ignored them, instead grabbing Deirdre and pulling her to the ground, covering her with himself. The same ground shook once, then twice. He looked up, taking in the scene on the beach with amazement.

Kara Thrace was standing there, head slightly tilted to one side as a vessel of some sort approached the beach. There was a distant, tell-tale whine of a Gauss Cannon activating, and then firing its explosive slugs towards them. Kara continued to stand there, seemingly unbothered by the impact strikes that 'walked' ever closer towards her.

Cursing, Svengaard jumped to his feet and shoved Lady Skye towards the emerging soldiers. "Get her inside!" he ordered, then took off in a desperate run towards Thrace. He heard Deirdre scream his name, but ignored both that and the ominous sounds of incoming chaos shells. It occurred to him this was likely a fool's errand and he was racing towards his death. Honor, duty, and simple desperation nevertheless drove him forward.

As he closed in, he heard a new sound fill the air. An odd...buzz, not unlike that of wasps back on Earth. A cold terror had him diving to the sand again, one having nothing to do with the three small explosions that kicked up sand and dirt and dust barely ten feet from them. The din of the explosions was quickly overwhelmed by that buzz, which Svengaard realized was coming from _behind_ them.

He risked a glance back over his shoulder, then pressed himself completely flat as a Locust boil burst into the air from the forest laying just outside the 'Wood's energy barrier. It paused there, an angry, swirling cloud of pink- and black-colored death. Yet it made no move to attack with the nearby settlement nor any of the humans standing there, all in various stages of psychic paralysis. The Locusts simply hovered, as if assessing the situation before them.

Then, to everyone's further amazement, the boil split into two separate groups, one somewhat smaller than the other. The larger arrowed directly for the attacking ship, covering it whole. Svengaard forced himself to stand, swaying uneasily as he fought to focus past the Locust's psychic assault. He bit down on his tongue as memories from the _William Jefferson Clinton_ hit, his skin fairly crawling with the sense-memory of the burns he'd suffered there. He swayed, even falling to one knee, only to nearly be driven completely down at the sight of the second, smaller swarm easily jetting through the energy barrier to envelope Kara!

No, he quickly realized. They didn't envelop her. They were...were covering her, circling around her like a small funnel cloud, yet _not touching her at all. _The breeze their frenzied flight generated lifted the long strands of her hair, but Kara Thrace was otherwise left completely untouched.

Svengaard managed to regain his footing and inched closer. The swarm was hundreds of individuals, but the were spaced enough apart that he could see past them, noting with surprise how Kara seemed wholly at peace with this...this _madness_. She smiled a slow, gentle smile, eyes looking unfocused and distant. Ulrik wondered if the Locusts hadn't already driven her mad with terror.

Kara reached out towards the circling multitude, palm open and upraised. A single Locust broke off and landed there, buzzing and writhing, but otherwise looking no more aggressive than a pacified Worm. Kara smiled again, and spoke in a gentle and calm voice that somehow carried across the beach. "Yes, it's a beautiful song. Thank you for sharing."

Ulrik's head was pounding fit to burst at that point, sweat pouring out as his nerves began to collapse under the psionic assault of the swarm. Kara saw this and frowned slightly. "Please stop," she asked in that impossible voice again. "You're frightening them." Ulrik felt the sense-memories recede, his skin now merely tingling as opposed to burning.

With them went the Locusts, who took once more to the air and rejoined the rest of their swarm. The one in Kara's palm was the last to leave; it was likely his imagination, but Svengaard would sworn the damned thing hovered at her cheek for an extra moment, as if giving her a kiss good-bye. Kara's giggle, a sweet and innocent sound, was nearly enough to convince him she was truly mad.

The Locusts were gone within seconds, leaving just himself and Kara Thrace standing there. The latter blinked rapidly and shook her head, the smile replaced with a dark frown as she looked about herself. "What...what th' frak jus' happen'd?" she demanded, voice once again rough with its strange accent.

Svengaard could offer her no answers, merely stare in utter shock and awe of the woman before him. He gave no sign of hearing the approach of others from the base; not even Deirdre's frantic calling his name, their names, broke his awe-inspired paralysis.

His sole thought throughout was _Fucking hell; we're going to need a lot of help here!_

He didn't doubt for an instant Deirdre Skye was thinking the exact same thing.

---

**Dawn of Planet**

**Isle of Dienera**

**Hour of the Glow Mites Rise (hour of sun setting)**

**Day 36**

Cha Dawn was a very old man in a very young man's body. This did not bother him – it never had. He was Planet's speaker and the Speaker did not require an adult body. He _was_ growing anxious though; Planet had not spoken with him for many days. The Speaker had nothing to give to his people. Such a thing had never happened to him before.

Feeling frustrated – or as close as he ever came to feeling such a base emotion - by yet another unsuccessful mediation session he stood gracefully and came down from the raised platform to the balcony overlooking the beauty of Planet in its pristine state. The base consisted of a chaotic collection of short buildings open to the atmosphere, all constructed around patches of Fungus. His temple was the tallest building, allowing him an all encompassing view of the natural beauty of Planet.

For all that it seemed normal – yet it wasn't. The rhythm had changed, the pattern was very different. Planet was not speaking to him and several of his people at the Manifold Nexus ruins reported a change in the resonance readings. Where before there was sensible order, now reined disorder. Even the Mind Worms appeared disquieted, boils surging up and lurching from their pens. There had been no fatalities yet, but the Intercessors were all reporting a growing restlessness among their people.

Yet, this disorder and disquiet were not malicious, and Planet was not rejecting them. Of this Cha Dawn was certain. It was more as if...as if something intrinsic to both Planet and their people had been changed...or something intrinsic had finally been returned, filling a gap whose emptiness no one had previously sensed as such...

Suddenly, the Prophet was overtaken by the planetmind's Voice. Except this time it was far, far louder and more intense than he had ever experienced in prior times. Sufficiently so he was nearly doubled over as the _words_ cascaded through him.

_A closed system lacks the ability to renew itself. The children of the one reborn shall find their own country. The harbinger is arrived! __Thráki__, salvation's marshal. Manifold sequence re-aligned. Fetch onward the transformation. Find the perfect planet for the perfect end. End of line. _

The words ended and Cha Dawn stepped back dizzily. He blinked and tears of blood trailed down his face. He stumbled away from the window to his comms-console, viciously stabbing the call button. "Fatima!"

"_Prophet? Are you unwell?"_

"Summon...summon Ataki Yushi. Tell her I _demand_ to speak with Lady Skye."

"_At once, Prophet."_

---

**Battlestar Galactica**

**Life Station**

**35 Day After Mutiny **

Lee found both his father and Roslin simply staring at him when he'd finished explaining himself. He met their gaze, directly and levelly, for the many long moments that silence reigned there.

It was Laura who broke it. "Explain that again," she requested, sounding far stronger than she looked. "Just so I'm sure it's you and Baltar who are crazy, and not the rest of us."

Lee bristled a little but didn't immediately respond. He truly wished he could have taken offense to this, but was hard pressed to disagree with her assessment. He'd certainly always thought Baltar was a few rounds short of a full magazine…with the rounds already loaded being either the wrong caliber or blanks or both.

So he ran a hand through his tangled hair and collected himself. "A couple days ago, Baltar approached me and told me…"

---

"**Baltar's Chambers"**

**(formerly Storage Bay Baker-Beta)**

**Four Days Earlier**

"You did…what?" Lee had no doubt he'd heard Baltar correctly, but needed the extra couple beats to get his head around what he'd just heard. Was Baltar really saying he'd…?

"I brought some artifacts we found on the surface with us." The scientist-turned-preacher regarded him with something akin to gratitude. "That extra time you insisted we remain in orbit allowed me to conduct a more comprehensive survey of our original landing site and find something that was actually useful."

Lee easily resisted the impulse to correct Baltar on the reason he'd asked the fleet to remain above that blasted wasteland of a planet far longer than judged necessary. He'd actually been clinging to the obscure, impossible hope that Kara would jump back any day back then with new coordinates; it didn't matter to him if nobody else believed her, as would have been the likely result. At that point Lee would be willing to jump away with her, just the two of them.

But she didn't return, and ultimately there were no decent excuses to be had for remaining there.

The fact Baltar had made use of the time was…unexpected. So far Lee had known, the man had holed up with his little harem of admirers and kept on with his wireless broadcasts. The few Lee had caught were surprisingly even-handed, provided one considered cries for retribution against the gods 'even-handed'. He hadn't actually crossed the line of advocating violence or anything, but gods knew the people were getting riled up more and more by his broadcasts. The mutiny hadn't helped any. At least his efforts to put together a new governing body had born fruit and concerns were getting addressed somewhat more quickly and smoothly these days.

Baltar was evidentially blind to his audience's temporary distraction, continuing to speak in his typical, breezy fashion. "At any rate, I now believe the area we landed in was an aerospace facility. A very technically advanced one, going by the equipment I found."

Lee heaved a sigh and asked "And what, exactly, did you find that is so interesting, Doctor?"

"What I believe is a computer mainframe, whose data I managed to retrieve and even download…"

Alarm jolted through his tired mind, "Wait! Wait a frakking second." Lee frowned and glanced at the array of electronic odds and ends that littered this workspace Baltar had claimed. "Are you telling me that you _downloaded_ alien data into Galactica's systems?"

Baltar looked suitably appalled at the suggestion. "Of course I didn't!" He swallowed, gathered himself, and continued more calmly. "I used the ECO station console from a Raptor that was down for engine repairs."

"And Chief Ty…Wicker allowed this?" Tyrol was still on the outs with the old man, even though the Deck Crew continued to look to him for guidance, but old man Wicker still had final say on use of the planes there.

After glancing this way and that, plus clearing his throat a couple times, stated "I've always thought it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission."

Lee quirked an eyebrow in exasperation…as if he and everyone else in the frakking fleet didn't know Baltar's philosophy already. Why the man couldn't just answer the question simply was beyond Lee's comprehension.

"Did you let anything into the main systems?"

"Absolutely not! I kept the console as a standalone. It was at no time networked in whatsoever." This rapid series of protests might have sounded, were it anyone else, as too much and too insistent, as if they were covering for some deeper, more serious trespass. Given it was Gaius Baltar, Lee had no doubt the doctor had taken serious steps to cover himself from any possible blame. He could only shake his head, grit his teeth and take the man at his word.

"Okay, so what did you find in this 'data' of yours?"

Baltar quickly shuffled (there was no other term for how the man moved) to a table strewn with bits of electronic equipment. All of it clearly had seen better days and very little of it recognizable. As Baltar rummaged about there, Lee had to wonder just how many 'survey trips' he had made to the surface, never mind exactly how he'd managed to cart his 'artifacts' up to Galactica without anyone really noticing. Then again, given the state of ship morale at the time…

Lee's ruminations were cut short when Baltar pointedly cleared his throat and handed over a small pile of printed pages. "Where'd you find the paper for this?" Lee asked as he started paging through the pile.

"I, uh, that is, my people…some of them found a drawer full of old reports…" Baltar's voice faded and his cheeks colored under Lee's quelling gaze. Lee made a further show of turning the pages in his hands over to study their back, confirming they were indeed reports for the ship, ones clearly dating back over two years before the attacks. He gave Baltar a final, disapproving look and went back to his perusal.

He blinked, unsure if he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. It quickly became a struggle to hide his growing surprise at what he saw.

---

**Life Station **

Lee watched as his father and the bed-ridden President of the Colonies flip through those same pages, clearly as taken aback by their content as he himself was. Sufficiently so he'd taken a good two days to go through them carefully, arranging and rearranging many of the pages into a more logical order. It had taken another two days to clear the time to bring this to them, by which time he'd more or less made his peace with it.

"Are these what I think they are?" the Admiral rasped.

"Schematics? For a starship? A big one? A really big one?" Lee nodded. "I can't read the notations, but if I've got the sequence right and these papers are showing correct scale, this thing was easily one-and-a-half times larger than Galactica."

Roslin frowned and was a slower read than his father, mainly because she was apparently focused on the pages that didn't have schematics or what looked like navigational charts. "What is this language? Could Baltar…?"

Lee quickly shook his head. "No, he didn't recognize it and couldn't translate it. Neither could I. It looks like a variant of Old Tauron, except for the extra accent marks."

"There was no translation program…?" Roslin's voice drifted off, realizing how silly the question actually was.

"I doubt whoever wrote this was expecting visitors from another star system," Adama put in, his frown deepening. "And while this is all very interesting, what use is it to us?"

"Grandpa Joe was from Tauron, right?" Lee asked.

"He was," Adama nodded, seeing immediately where this was heading and loath to derail it. "But he threw himself into integrating on Caprica. I never actually learned any Tauron, beyond the absolute basics anyway."

Lee didn't seem worried at this. "What about your library? Don't you have a few reference books there?"

"I…" Adama stopped and thought hard. "Maybe…maybe a dictionary or…" He rubbed his chin, giving Roslin an opening of her own.

"That might not be necessary." Both men looked at her. "I did my dissertation study in Ossydya and had to learn the dialect." The look she gave forbade them asking why she'd been in area notorious for being the last known haven of the Ha'la'tha crime syndicate.

She held up several sheets with nothing but typescript, hands shaking with the effort. "This isn't anywhere near the same, but its close enough that I might be able to make out some words. Maybe I can reconstruct some of the sentences and get a sense of it." Lee nodded, but the Old Man looked ready to object.

Roslin stopped him before he could even open his mouth. "Bill, please. It's not like I'm running the government any more." Adama looked away, but had the good sense to keep his mouth shut.

"I'll find you some scrap paper," he muttered and left the area.

Lee and Roslin both looked after him, the former turning to the latter and asked "You two okay?"

She could only shrug. "We have good days and…not-so-good days."

"Which is today?"

Laura shrugged again and nodded towards an empty bed across the floor. "I had a friend pass away yesterday. Bill and I were both there when she…" She shook herself and continued. "I think it hit Bill more than me."

Lee knew there was nothing he could say to that, and so kept silent. Laura let the silence linger, then asked, "Can I keep these?"

"All of it?"

"No, just these few pages. It'll be enough to give me a start."

Lee nodded. "Just as well. It looks like some of this is navigational data. I want to run it past Hoshi, just to be sure…"

"Lee?"

"Hmm?"

"Wherever this data leads…do you think Kara is waiting for us there?" His head snapped up before he could stop himself.

"Yes, I know she jumped off on her own to somewhere before we left Er…that planet she brought us to. I also know that's why you insisted we stay those extra weeks."

"You didn't object," Lee reminded her, to which Roslin nodded.

"No, I didn't. Just like I'm not objecting to you forming the ships Captains into governing committee, or to you negotiating supplies with the cylons." She lay back and let herself sag into the bed's thin mattress. "We…my beliefs have become too…compromised…for me to carry on. At this point, I doubt anyone would follow me to a drinking well even if they were dying of thirst." Fixing him with a stare he couldn't, wouldn't break, she continued. "They're following you now, so I want to know: are you determined to follow her?"

Lee held that gaze without blinking, and answered "Yes."

"You believe this is the direction we're supposed to go?"

"Yes."

"Can I ask why?"

Many answers to this came to mind: _Because Kara's Viper led us to that planet. Because we found that planet was already dead. Because we found this data on that dead planet that Kara's Viper led us to_.

_Because that Viper, which is still sitting on the flight deck, is also a pile of wreckage not a mile from where we found this data. _

_Because Kara came back from the dead to lead us to that planet, and that data, and this new direction…_

What he said was: "Because I believe in her."

And that was that.

---

Later, shortly before he lay down to get what little sleep he could, Lee would wonder why he hadn't mentioned the odd end of his exchange with Baltar. It was odd because he'd looked over the artifacts themselves, and mused aloud how anything as thoroughly wrecked as all this could have yielded such clear data.

_Baltar overheard this, and took it as an actual question. _

"_Well, I, um…I didn't actually get it working." _

"_Explain that," Lee demanded. _

"_I'd actually given up trying to get anything out of this. But shortly before that…unpleasant business with Mr. Gaeta and Zarek, well, I come back and found one of the refugees in here toying with it." _

"_One of…?" _

"_Some poor girl. I've no idea who she was, or what she did. She seemed familiar, but I couldn't remember where would have met such her – my people are much better off. But after she'd run off…poor thing didn't even have any shoes or proper clothes…well, as you can see, some of these pieces started proving functional. After further examination, I deduced those pieces were a storage unit of some sort. So, after the fighting was done, I thought I'd try linking them to some of our own equipment and …" _

There was something in that exchange which left him…unsettled. As if he was forgetting something obvious.

But that thought itself proved elusive, and was as quickly forgotten as the rest of it. And so Lee laid himself down, closed his eyes, and hoped he'd see Kara in his dreams again.

* * *

Reviews are the only reward we get for our work, please tell us what you think - we need to know in order to continue writing this awesome story!


	6. Chapter 6

A big, looooong chapter here fore you as an early holiday present.

Please enjoy and let us know what you think!

* * *

Chiron's Landmarks, Natural and Otherwise

It is inevitable that a planet as large as Chiron would sport a host of unique geographical landmarks and oddities. Below is a partial listing of the more notable ones, as well as their general features and locations.

**The Monsoon Jungle**: located on the western coastline of Pangea and fed by heavy rainfall off the nearby ocean, the Jungle is a region of dense, tropical type vegetation. The area is the only stretch of jungle rainforest to be found on Chiron. Although a quarter of it has observed growth of xenofungus, the jungle itself teeming with biodiversity in both plant and animal life, much of it still being catalogued even after a full century of study. The rainforest is fed by frequent rainfall off the neighboring ocean, and occupied exclusively by the Gaia's Stepdaughters.

**Planetnek**: a massive landbridge, linking the western peninsula of Pangea to its eastern mass and lending the continent its rough "P" shape. The University of Planet is located southwest of the landbridge and forms a de facto border between the University and Gaian territory.

**Great Dunes**: a region of vast desert comparable to the Gobi or Sahara deserts on Earth occupying the southeastern corner of Pangea. The surviving settlements of the Lord's Believers are located there, stubbornly clinging to the rare oases of workable land to be found throughout the area.

**Fossil Ridge**: a four hundred and fifty mile reef located just off the southern shore of Pangea. What makes this reef exceptional how close it is to the surface, and that it appears to have been formed in a process similar to corral reefs on Earth by an as-yet unidentified marine species.

**Sunny Mesa**: a natural highland found north of the Great Dunes and near the eastern coastline of Pangea that reached over 1,200 kilometers high. It has no special resource value, but its altitude and unusually clear weather allow for extensive solar power collection. The Spartan Federation has its headquarters there.

**The Northern Wastes**: the stretch of northeastern Pangea which, despite its name, is actually comprised of fertile ground and deep valleys. It is, however, poor in mineral content. The Human Hive and its warrens are located there and along the northern coasts.

**Uranium Flats**: an expanse of former grasslands with rich deposits of uranium, iron, and other heavy metals which takes up the northern twenty percent of Elysium. Morgan Industries has its headquarters just south of it and has developed the area extensively.

**New Sargossa**: the single largest mass of fungus on Planet, found in the deep ocean directly east of Elysium and over a thousand square miles in coverage. The Morganites successfully established a research colony there after managing to clear a sizable section of it; this arcology was lost to the Gaians during a conflict between the two factions between Mission Years 2180 and 2187.

**Landing Bay**: a wide sea to the southwest of the Uranium Flats, which despite having an inlet directly to the New Sargasso, is surprisingly free of fungus. The Morganites had several small research bases along its coastline, all of which were 'lost' during the global Prometheus pandemic and have subsequently become the core of the Data Angels faction.

**Garland Crater**: a vast impact crater from an ancient planetoid crashing on Planet's surface. The region's ecology has yet to recover, but surveys indicate the remnants of the impactor are near the surface, making the crater and its surroundings a rich source of industrial metals. As yet, however, no faction has established any bases there.

**Freshwater Sea**: an inland sea found on the southern 'base' of Pholus Spine, which as the name suggests is entirely free of salination and well suited to Earth-born life. UN Headquarters is found along its western shore.

**Pholus Ridge**: a geologically active region to the north of the Freshwater Sea, with minor earthquakes and even some mountain-building activity occurring regularly. As a result, the region is goldmine of geothermal energy that the UN had recently begun settling.

**Mount Planet**: the highest mountain on Chiron, in fact a still-active shield volcano (similar to Mauna Loa on Earth or Olympus Mons on Mars). Its slopes offer significant mineral and geothermal bounty, and were used by the University as key industrial and research site prior to the global Prometheus pandemic. Their base has since been taken over by the Cybernetic Consciousness, who have expanded it significantly.

**Geothermal Shallows**: a scattering of underwater geysers marking a continental shelf region is particularly intense geothermal activity. The second University base lost to the Cybernetic Consciousness is located there.

In addition to these natural landmarks, there are four which are inarguably of artificial origin and construction:

**The U.N.S. Unity**: the wreckage of the starship Unity, located to the north of the Freshwater Sea on Pholus Spine. The wreckage itself covers an area some two hundred square miles and is virtually unrecognizable. The UN was nevertheless able to salvage some critical pieces of terraforming and survey equipment, as well as a sizable portion of the ship's computer records and the core to its fusion plant. The region is now considered a 'neutral ground' by most of the Terran colonial factions and is treated as a memorial by all sides.

"**The Ruins**": in a region of especially dense xenofungus on the northernmost tip of Pholus Spine stands a ring of eight structures generally referred to as "monoliths". The structures are not actually monoliths per se, but are four-sided obelisks, each standing precisely 39.785 feet in height, with a low circular wall at its base. The obelisks and their walls are covered with an elaborate series pictograms which presently defy translation; understandable, given over 2,000 distinct characters have been identified and their placement and sequence changes (sometimes subtly, sometimes radically) with each monolith. This ring is exactly 222 miles in diameter, and surrounds a hill of exactly 222 meters in elevation; it is unknown if these measurements have any comprehensible significance, or if they're merely coincidence. The hill itself is entirely free of xenofungus and viable for settlement. The Gaians and UN have been in negotiation over establishing a joint settlement there, although these negotiations have not made much headway.

**The Borehold Cluster**: located on the northern region of Pangea, directly west of the Northern Wastes, are three thermal boreholes that had been drilled through the planet's crust to a measured depth of over 75 miles; it has been postulated they go far deeper but the Terrans presently lack the equipment to get an accurate measure. The boreholes have somehow maintained themselves against local geological forces in the millennia (if not longer) since their construction. The Hive first discovered them in MY 2164 and quickly established several bases there to make use of the incredible energy output they offered. The global Prometheus pandemic, combined with a general uprising by the Drones in those bases led the Hive's leadership to abandon the area around MY 2192. The inhabitants of these bases have since become the Free Drones, and continue to expand their territory and use of these ancient structures to power their factories.

**The Manifold Nexus**: ruins that have been carbon dated to being at least 750,000 years old, whose original shape and dimensions are impossible to project. These are found in the interior of the Isle of Dienera and have been claimed by the Prophet Cha Dawn and his Cult of Planet as part of his exclusive domain. UN, University, and Gaian researchers have been allowed to examine the ruins, but have come away with more questions than answers. One thing all sides agree on is that the ruins give off a steady if low-grade harmonic, and that this pulse exercises an odd effect on Telepath and Empathic minds, heightening their psionic sensitivity to native life (and vice versa).

_Planet, a Survivalists' Guide_, Col. Corazon Santiago

---

**Gaia's Landing**

**Secure Room Red**

**Day 46 (seven days after the 'Locust Incident') **

**Half Past Six Bells Low**

_The image on the screen is of open sea and distant horizon, the hum of the Wolf's high-speed engine the only discernable sound. The Wolf was a twist on the Pirate's marine detachment boats used to board and capture enemy ships – maneuverable and light; it would not be going head to head with a battle cruiser but it could easily outrun anything on Planet. The image jumps about – the camera picks up flashes of instruments, the side of a small boat, legs, arms, still more sky – ultimately settling upon the visage of Beowulf Skye-Svengaard, who glances towards the camera and quirks an eyebrow. _

"_Will you calm down?" he growls aloud. _

"_Sorry," a voice chirps from off-camera. Those watching recognize it as belonging to Operative Sean Poyet, one of Beowulf's crew. Now seemingly settled, the view gains more context. The holo is being recorded aboard The 'Wolf itself, with Commander Skye-Svensgaard at the controls, with Operatives Desik and Hakim manning the ship's two Impactor cannons. Everyone is dressed for a boarding action: silksteel plate armor (appropriately marked and colored according to faction of citizenship), helmets with attached cam-recorders, shredder guns, and machetes strapped across their backs. _

_The smaller hydrofoil approaches a larger one, which is afloat in the water. The foreign vessel is clearly larger than the average hydrofoil, its sloped hull – pockmarked with hundreds of small, irregular holes - glinting in odd ways. _

"_Ahoy!" Beowulf calls out, "Prepare to be boarded." _

_There is no answer to this, and the 'Wolf is maneuvered into position to attach the specially designed rubber seals installed on either side of the Wulf's hull to the larger craft. The latter's hull is now seen more clearly, and it actually appears to be giving off a subtle pink glow. Ghengis, who is standing closest to the hull, boldly reaches out and brushes a hand over the angled metal. There are muted, frightened cries from off-camera as he does this. Operative Hakim himself is unaffected by the contact; he looks back towards the camera and smirks. _

"_Tingly," he declares, then reaches down onto the Wulf's deck and retrieves a rope and grappling hook. _

_There is a flurry of motion as Poyet throws and secures the hook to the enemy vessel, climbs up and crouches down, shredder gun poised to fire on any potential combatants. The scene changes radically when Poyet's motions subside. The view is now of the main deck of the intruder craft, Beowulf is facing away from the camera, leaning over the ship's controls. "Simple set-up," he states, more to himself then to anyone present or watching. _

_The camera swings up to examine the ship's single weapon, a long-barreled cannon whose structure takes up much of the deck. A body, presumably one of the missing crew, lay across the cannon's barrel – probably trying to jump over into the water before they were caught. The camera moves closer to the corpse, it is clear that its shredded uniform was the only thing holding what little flesh and bone that was intact. The wounds were pervasive and ugly, looking as if chunks of flesh and muscle had been literally torn off the skeleton, and the exposed bones then attacked with a hundred tiny chisels and hack-saws. _

_Clearly something terrible had befallen this vessel. _

_The holovid freezes upon an insignia patch on the corpses' uniform: a circle, bisected across the middle and the two halves contrasting color schemes, with a second arc bordering the rightmost half. _

"_Well," Operative Poyet murmurs. "That answers that." _

---

Beowulf sat as calmly as he could, watching the video feed from Sean's helmet cam. He forced himself not let his gaze slide to everyone in the room more than once every sixty seconds. Otherwise, he would be staring. He noticed that Genghis and Mara were equally stiff in their seats, eyes staring strictly forward. Sean was more animated, but that was his particular talent, the ability to seem calm and unaffected even under the most dire of circumstances.

Wulf refocused his attention back to the matter at hand; he'd had plenty of time to review this footage before this briefing was demanded. That, combined with his first-hand experience there, meant he'd be expected to fill in any potential holes in their analysis; it was a position he being Captain of this posse frequently found himself in, and one he'd never felt adequate in.

"That answers what, Operative Poyet?" Nassir am Barrack, head of Gaian Internal Security, asked politely across the u-shaped table he and eight others sat at.

Sean Poyet, who was standing beside the holo-projection, pointed to insignia patch. "This was a Hive vessel, or at the very least one crewed by Yang's men."

"Well, we are at war with them," Nassir nodded.

"True," Beowulf Skye-Svengaard, who coincidentally sat directly across from the swarthy-skinned giant, acknowledged. "It is what we found aboard the ship itself was infinitely more worrying."

"How so?" asked Lady Skye, sitting appropriately at the 'center' of the table, her eyes fixed on the holo, a thoughtful and calculating expression on her face.

Beowulf stood and took Sean's place, clicking several buttons on the small control pad in his hand. The recording from the ship vanished, to be immediately replaced with a diagram of the captured vessel. The attendees, dubbed "the war council", all leaned forward.

A detailed schematic of the ship appeared on the screen with the relevant portions of the ship highlighted. "This ship was equipped with a Chaos projectile gun and shield with a specifically tuned Photon Wall. Somehow, the Hive was able to figure out our current sensor frequencies and program their ship's photon sheath to slip through our sensor grid."

Everyone was silent as they processed that news for several long seconds. Lady Skye interrupted the contemplation, "How did we not know that the Hive had acquired this technology?" She tried hard not to sound more than mildly aggrieved at this apparent lapse, especially given Beowulf and his crews were tasked with only a sliver of the Alliance's covert assets. The Empath Guild should have noticed these developments, especially the Hive developing rail gun weapons. With Yang's population base and their manufacturing capacity, the implications were decidedly frightening.

Mara spoke up, "From what we could gather of the construction, it is a very new ship, probably the Hive's prototype – they must have kept it off their datalinks as much as humanly possible."

"Can the security breach be fixed?"

Mara paused to think over the answer, "Yes, Lady. But it will take some time – probably about a week. I think we can widen the sensor net's frequency range to compensate for the tactic."

Skye inclined her head, "Take whatever resources you need to get it done. This is all you will work on until the problem is resolved." She glanced around the table, "Is there anything else?"

Mara and Genghis glanced at each other, then to Beowulf in question. He quirked an eyebrow and spoke directly to his mother, "Mara and Genghis were able to download a chunk of tactical information from the Hive's network before the ship was cut off from the Hive datalinks."

Nassir straightened up in anger, "Why was this not brought to my attention immediately?"

Beowulf cocked an eyebrow in a manner very similar to his mothers, "There has been some very…vigorous…debate among us about the veracity of the information. Operative Desik believes that much of the information might be falsified in an attempt to draw out our naval forces."

Ulrich spoke calmly, "Why?"

Mara angled her body to speak to Lady Skye and Captain Svensgaard, "The upload contained what looked like deployment orders for 'local' Hive forces. It reports, and I use the term advisedly, that the size and composition of forces around Factory Drift are not even close to what previous intelligence indicated. These readouts show that it is defended only by two battalions of non-PSI trained Plasma Garrisons and patrolled by a single skim-ship. It's not right – it can't be right."

Nassir made to interrupt but Mara continued quickly, "Factory Drift is the Hive's major production facility – both manufacturing and food processing - for nearly half of the Hive Empire. Yang would never leave it so vulnerable, not even if it meant losing another base. He wouldn't dare."

Nassir glanced to Genghis, "What do you think Operative Hakim?"

"In regard to Factory Drift? I think Mara is correct. However, I do not think that all of the information is bad. The bad information about the Drift was probably meant to distract us from the real information. Its an open secret we have every datalink on the planet infiltrated, so it makes sense they'd come up a quick if sloppy diversion once we're detected."

"Do you think any of the other information you were able to gather might be useful?"

Beowulf nodded, "Yes. We think that we know where some Hive supply lines are located and can disrupt them. It might give some of the troops a bit of a break."

Diedre inclined her head, "Do what you have to." She glanced at Nassir, "Have you been able to redeploy troops to reinforce Gaia's High Garden?"

Nassir rubbed his face, obviously frustrated, "Yes. I don't think it will be enough. The perimeter defense is badly damaged, most of the garrison has been defending the base from nearly non-stop air and ground attacks for months and food stores are running low. We need something to clear the area of Hive troops. Maybe we can send your Locust charmer – that might get them out of their ditches."

The pointed silence from all of the room's occupants was the only answer he got to that ridiculous idea. The mood in the room became even more grave as the implications of losing the Garden played through their heads.

Sean's voice was like a thunderbolt in the silence, "A massive air strike could loosen them up and a ground assault from three of our demon boils would clean up."

Skye shook her head, "They would detect the needlejets coming from hundreds of miles away."

Sean tilted his head slightly and spoke hesitantly, "I wasn't suggesting the use of any of our needlejets. At least, not primarily."

All eyes turned to him, one pair in particular. It wasn't until Lady Skye gave a nod that he dared continue. "Thrace can still fit in that suit she showed up in, and if not, we have our own containment suits."

"What are you getting at, Operative Poyet?"

"Thanks to Dr. Fedotov's briefings, Captain Thrace has confirmed her people's vehicles are capable of near instantaneous faster-than-light travel. It stands to reason that since she showed up a young woman and not in stasis, she traveled from Earth to Chiron _using_ this technology. And, like it or not, she is currently the only person capable of piloting her ship."

Genghis leaned forward, hand scratching his bearded chin. "We could load up her ship with hellfire missiles, have her pop in there, drop them and pop out. It would likely take her no more than seconds. Depending on her fuel status, she could make several runs before the Hive troops knew what hit them."

Nassir glanced at Beowulf and Mara. Wulf was standing stiffly at attention and Mara sat with her arms crossed tightly, "Are you all of accord with this, or are there…reservations about this plan?"

Mara glanced to Wulf, who bobbed his head in permission. He was her captain, after all. She stated "It's dangerous, highly precise and would require that our most protected asset be put into immediate danger _while_ pregnant."

Wulf added "Dr. Fedotov has no flight training, either as a pilot or in countermeasures, but would have to accompany Captain Thrace for obvious reasons. She represents a considerable asset in her own right…"

Deidre glanced at Ulrik pointedly. He nodded, "Thank you Commander, Operatives. You are dismissed."

They all seemed as if they were about to protest but seemed to reconsider as Lady Skye gave them all a quelling look. Once the four had filed out of the room, she turned to Nassir, "Is this a viable plan?"

Nassir shifted uncomfortable in his seat, "Yes, Lady. Viable and likely to be successful. However, I share Operative Desik's reservations. We have never asked a pregnant woman to risk life and limb for us, and honestly, it's not something I am comfortable asking of her."

Ulrik eyed the man closely, "You would not be doing the asking."

Deidre nodded thoughtfully, "I will speak with Irene and Kara this evening then. Thank you for your insight, Nassir. Dismissed." The swarthy-skinned man stood and gave his Lady a small bow, then quit the room without further comment. This left just herself, the elder Svengaard, and the only occupant who had not spoken thus far. Deirdre waited a beat, and then tilted her head to address the silent party.

"You are no doubt confused by some of this."

"Very," replied Aki-Zeta Five, in her trademark monotone. It had taken nearly a week to bring the Prime Function of the Cybernetic Consciousness to Gaia's Landing, and Skye and Svengaard had struggled the whole while about how best to brief their ally about the arrival of Kara Thrace. As cool and logical as she presented herself, Aki-Zeta could prove as 'prickly' as Sister Miriam, particularly when it came to information sharing. The few technological exchanges they'd participated in had left Deirdre feeling like she'd gotten the short end of the deal.

Still, she needed allies, especially given her people's poor relations with Cha Dawn and the natural antagonism with the exploitive Morgan. The Consciousness had been invaluable in upgrading their avionics and bio-enhancement research, and their engineering teams were fast completing work on Project _Cloudbase_. They were only a year or two away from completing the massive aeronautics academy, thanks entirely to the Cyborgs.

Nevertheless, Deirdre could never quite shake the feeling Aki-Zeta was always holding back on her. She was honest enough to admit the woman always rubbed her wrong, between her poor grooming and flat eyes, so probably that was all it was. Maybe…probably.

Then again, if Aki-Zeta _was_ holding data or new advances back, Deirdre knew she hardly had cause to complain. Especially given the small matter sitting between them now.

Aki-Zeta herself was patient, although her voice carried a distinctly _icy_ edge as she asked "Locust charmer?"

Deirdre pressed her lips tight, eyes fixed on her hand folded on the tabletop before her. Exhaling a slow breath, she raised her eyes and met Aki-Zeta's pale blue eyes. "Some forty-odd days ago, our satellite monitoring station here at Gaia's Landing detected the…arrival of an object in high orbit. This object was _not_ of planetary manufacture…"

---

It took close to an hour to squeeze in all the "relevant details", concluding with a cursory treatment of the…incident…on the beach outside Razorbeak Wood seven days ago.

Aki-Zeta remained silent throughout, head cocking from one side to the other at odd moments, eyes never drifting from Deirdre herself and blinking only when necessary. Her expression remained bland and unconcerned, offering no clue as to her thoughts or insights she might have held.

Ulrik stayed silent as well, carefully observing both women. He'd made no secret of his distrust of the Consciousness and its machine-emulating leader, and her silence was more unnerving to him than if she were blustering threats of immediately declaring for the Spartans; it would have been an ironic action, given the quiet declaration of Blood Truce between themselves and Santiago, something they'd all agreed needed to be kept under wraps until the Council was called. He hoped the latter would not come to pass, but prayed even more desperately his dislike and distrust didn't show; no need to throw more oil into already-muddied waters.

Deirdre concluded her account with a sigh of "And here we are."

"Yes," Aki-Zeta agreed, voice again flat and nearly-inhuman. "Here we are." Her eyes moved now, fixing on the opposite wall with the same laser-like focus as she'd regarded Lady Skye. "Is Thrace her real name?"

The question was unexpected, but Deirdre recovered quickly. "Yes."

"And you have confirmed she is a Transcend?"

"The analysis of her genome isn't complete, but all the expected markers are there."

Aki-Zeta pursed her lips, a nigh-unto-unheard of show of emotion on her part. "Has she demonstrated any powers above those already catalogued?"

"Besides the incident with the Locusts, she's caused…mild psychometric damage to an established Empath." Aki-Zeta cocked her head again, causing Deirdre to elaborate "Nothing remotely serious. It amounted to nothing but a mild psychokinetic push and a nosebleed."

"But _could_ have proved more serious," Aki-Zeta put in.

Lady Skye nodded tightly. "Yes, it _could_ have been." She was careful to put emphasis upon the hypothetical.

"Where is this woman, Thrace, now?"

"In a secure facil…" Deirdre began, only for the Cyborg leader to cut in.

"I wish to see her myself."

"Why?" Ulrik immediately asked. There was nothing threatening or sharp about his tone; the whip-lash speed of the question was enough.

Aki-Zeta turned to regard him for a single, long moment, and Svengaard had to fight to keep hold of those cold, cold eyes. Ultimately the Cyborg relented and turned back to Lady Skye. "I wish to observe her first-hand. This will allow me to record her biometrics for myself and confirm…"

"You doubt our sincerity?" Ulrik growled, immediately conscious of his choice of pronoun. He caught Lady Skye's flash-of-a-grin out of the corner of his eye, but kept his own lips tight and even.

Again Aki-Zeta fixed a stare upon him that was so bland as to be inhuman; it proved no easier to weather than the first one, although the Cyborg herself appeared unconcerned. "I merely question if this new element matches your assumptions of her."

"They're hardly assumptions," Lady Skye replied, matching the other woman's cool tone.

"You stated you're analysis of her genome is incomplete. The evidence you have cited for her status is purely anecdotal. I offer you a tool in which to further assess her."

"That may be…unwise," Ulrik noted reluctantly.

"Why?"

Lady Skye took up from there. "Captain Thrace's people were all but wiped out about three planetary years ago in a surprise attack by a…synthetic species of belligerents."

Aki-Zeta took this in with only a single, surprisingly sharp blink. "'Synthetic species'?" she asked.

"Captain Thrace's term. Apparently this race of, um, people…who appear to be flesh-and-blood, by the way…they evolved from a line of servitor robots her people had built. Said robots having rebelled against their creators some forty years ago."

"Flesh and blood…'evolved' from mechanicals…" The concept apparently took a bit processing for the Cyborg, who sat there, unmoving for a single, long minute. Ultimately she raised her head, face again expressionless and eyes offering no clue to her thoughts. "You are concerned then that Thrace will react…poorly…to my enhancements."

It wasn't a question, and neither Skye nor Svengaard were willing to treat it as such. Neither however could they deny the merits her original points concerning their evidence and assumptions.

Ultimately, Lady Skye asked in a deliberately thoughtful tone "Without going into technical detail, Prime Function…"

"Yes?"

"Precisely how sensitive are your on-board sensors?" She fixed the other woman with an appraising look. "Could they record biometrics through, say, a pane of one-way glass?"

---

**Razorbeak Wood**

**Covert Ops Center, Admin Tower, 12****th**** Floor**

**Quarter past Eight Bells Low**

Beowulf rubbed his head, equal parts exhausted and frustrated. It was barely past eight bells low and _already_ it had been a very long day. The morning's briefing, coming after having spent nearly two days in nonstop refereeing Mara and Genghis' arguing over the Hive naval deployment information _and _reviewing and analyzing Sean's video footage from aboard the ship…all topped off with the too-short viewing of security footage of the Locust's arrival and frankly bizarre behavior, the terse denial of his request to speak with Thrace, and finally the meeting with his parents and their little 'war council'.

He'd been quietly pleased when his team had been dismissed; he shared his father's dislike of the Cyborg (albeit for slightly different reasons; he really wished she'd shower at least once a week) and having been aboard the Hive boat and seeing what the Locusts did first-hand had left him more shaken than he cared to admit, even to himself. Beowulf prayed to the Sea Gods and the Mother Goddess that it would settle down from here on out.

Sadly, as he approached his office, he saw that his prayers were not going to be answered that morning. None other than Irene Fedotov stood, arms crossed and back stiff in the open doorway of his office, patiently ignoring his assistant's increasingly firm requests that she make an appointment. Beowulf had no doubt she'd finally figured out he'd been deliberately avoiding her, and had decided to call him on it in her own interminable fashion by camping out on his damned doorstep. He likewise didn't doubt for even half a heartbeat that she'd continue 'camping out' until he showed his face…which she would likely take great delight in tearing off and making an All Hallows masque of.

He seriously contemplated ducking out and forcing Sean to let Wulf work in _his_ office for the day. Unfortunately he pondered on this a little too long and Fedotov caught sight of him, her gaze zeroed in like an old Sabre missile. Her expression was carefully controlled, with only the slight uptick of her left eyebrow conveying her impatience. It was enough to make his back stiffen unconsciously and mind turn towards meeting the inevitable confrontation.

"Commander Skye-Svensgaard," she greeted, voice cool and loaded with enough sweetened venom to instantly kill a much larger creature than himself. He'd heard _that tone_ only once before, and it still made his stomach clench. If Irene noticed his rare discomfiture, she ignored it and ground on. "You and your staff have put me off for seven days. I am now _demanding_ access to the sensor data and footage of Captain Thrace's encounter with the Locusts."

He had to hand it to her, he didn't know anyone else that could say _'Fuck you, fuck your rank, fuck your worthless manhood, and fuck your dog too'_ so clearly without actually saying it. Too bad it got his back up, leading him to reply "That information is classified and cannot be released to anyone without Level Eight clearance." He internally winced at the less-than-subtle frosty undertone in his voice.

"Sean already confirmed my Clearance Level, Commander Skye-Svensgaard." Beowulf couldn't miss the juxtaposition of names she used. "I have put my request for this information in writing and submitted it through all proper channels…and have been _ignored_." She smiled sharply at him. "I would remind you, _Commander,_ that by Lady Skye's explicit directive, _all_ information pertaining to my charge is to be made available to me _immediately _upon request. Since this incident potentially impacts upon Captain Thrace's mental and physical health, you are required by order of your nation's leader to release this information."

She tilted her head and smiled with a false sweetness, "Now, may I please have the files due me?"

Beowulf felt his nostrils flare in a single, harsh exhale. He felt the simultaneous, competing impulses of wanting to kiss those generous lips _and_ wanting to bury his fist into them…then pick her up, carry her into his office and…

The woman must have been made out of solid stone, with a heart to match, if she was willing to keep tormenting him like this. He responded as calmly as he could "The data is too sensitive to transmit over the datalinks. I will direct a standalone viewer be provided to you with the logged data uploaded. Will that be acceptable?"

"Eminently." Her smile took on almost corpse-like dimensions as she added "Have this viewer ready by One Bell High, or I'll feel compelled to take this up with Lady Skye." Fedotov spun on her heel and marched away, leaving Beowulf fuming. With only a sharp nod to his secretary, Beowulf stomped into his office and stood at his desk, slamming both fists onto the otherwise pristine surface with his head bowed.

He was going to need to call in to one of _Le Compagnon Entretient_ tonight, that bit…Fedotov having him (once again) too hot and bothered to be much good to anyone. Unfortunately, he needed to deal with that bit…Fedotov's 'request' before he could even _think_ about that.

Punching the comm-pad on his desk, he opened a line to his ever-efficient minion outside. "Jessa? Get me a line to Ghengis Hakim, quickly."

---

**Desik Family Residence**

**Razorbeak Wood, Residence Tower Two, 10****th**** Floor**

**Quarter to Nine Bells Low**

Mara came home to find that, despite the advanced hour of the day, all the curtains had been pulled shut and all lamps shut off. The rooms instead were all gently aglow with the light of dozens of small candles. The air was thick with the scent of spice incense, their family's altar partially obscured by the haze of at least twenty scent-sticks, all of them burning low.

She slipped her boots off and carefully made her way to the back bedroom, checking into the other doors as she went. The bathroom and offices were their usual disaster areas, but otherwise unoccupied. Something she'd need to take care of, but later.

Only the soft cast of the table lamp lit the nursery when Mara entered. She grinned when she noticed that, while the rest of their quarters were usually a disaster area, as usual – Daniel's room was spotless and free of clutter. Daniel lay on his back, sleeping soundly (thank the Goddess!) with his small fist in his mouth. Mara walked over to the crib, ran a gentle finger over her son's cheek and kissed his forehead. She tip toed out and closed the door.

What she found in the bedroom was – to her – positively breathtaking: Svetlana Eryn, apparently asleep amid a small sea of candlelight. Her wife was laying on her side, facing away from her, her bare back and shoulders visible above the small blanked that only barely covered her hips. If Mara hadn't known better, she'd have thought the entire scene was _posed_ for her personal consumption.

As it was, all Mara could think to do was kneel down beside the bed and, with the most exquisite care, shift a short curtain of dark curls away from Svetlana's neck and apply the gentlest kiss there.

Her wife's response was immediate, sitting up and spinning about, one hand shooting out to grab a thick handful of Mara's own hair while the other applied a strong grip to her throat. The former was tight and surely unbreakable, the latter stopping just short of leaving bruises.

"So here you are," Svetlana hissed like a viper, shinning green eyes narrowed onto Mara's own. Not allowing or waiting for a response, she pulled Mara's lips to her own, more like an attack than a kiss of greeting. Mara's eyes drifted shut, as they often did during such greetings, only to have Svetlana pull back slightly.

"Open your eyes," she ordered, and Mara immediately obeyed. Lana leaned forward and sniffed the air between them. "You've been out at sea." Another sniff. "And the armory."

"That…attack…a few days ago…" Mara found herself stumbling to offer an explanation. She should have anticipated Lana's next move, which was to shove her away so she fell gracelessly to the floor.

"On your knees," Svetlana ordered, and Mara moved quickly to obey. This movement allowed her cover the shakes that always hit when Lana took that tone with her, reminding her of their first meetings at Song of Planet's hospital ward.

Mara had by no means been celibate prior to running herself near to death in the Aps Course, but one physical therapy session with the newly-certified Therapeutic Specialist Svetlana Andrea Eryn was all it took to loose her heart utterly to the woman. The fact said woman reciprocated the sentiment, indeed was the first to put it into words herself (dry-eyed but snarling as she did so, believing _she_ was about to be rejected), never failed to shock the normally unflappable Mara to silence.

Thankfully, the roles they'd settled into – demanding therapist and recalcitrant patient – transitioned easily from the hospital to the home they'd made here. Mara couldn't begin to explain the singular joy being taken "in hand" by this ruthlessly demanding, singularly devoted, infinitely gentle bully…and taking her in turn with equal ruthlessness. She knew only how she felt _complete_ with her, no matter the role she or Lana played at any moment. The fact Lana was both a Thelonite Proctor _and_ a naturalist - meaning Mara routinely had easy access to her body...when given permission to it, of course - just added spice to it all. Lana's favorite position of late was reclining nude against her equally nude wife and letting Mara toy with her while nursing their son; it never failed to bring them both to tears, Mara always timing their mutual climaxes perfectly.

Mara could literally taste that spice when Svetlana next ordered "Off with those clothes." She was about to stand, only to realize she hadn't been given _permission_ to do so. Her Lana was precise in all things, and expected nothing less of her. Stripping while kneeling wasn't that difficult, given she was wearing just her jumpsuit, merely awkward. Mara accomplished the task with minimal shifting, looking up in anticipation as Sventlana threw aside the minimal covering and stood to tower over her; Lana had a natural two inches on her barefoot, so she was a virtual colossus with her on her knees like this.

Because she hadn't been forbidden from looking, Mara let her eyes travel slowly upwards, raking over the firm thighs still showing light welts that brought to mind such delicious memories. Her gaze froze just below the waistline, eyes widened appreciably at the sight her wife presented. Apparently she'd been wrong and finding Lana like this _had_ been a matter of posing, her wife having planned this encounter and coming 'equipped' for it.

Mara found herself so entranced with her wife's selection of 'equipment', she squealed in surprise when Svetlana leaned down and grabbed her by the hair again, tilting her head up so their eyes were once more locked onto each. "Daniel has just fallen asleep, so keep your voice down." Here eyes turned dark, skin flushing darker still.

"Yes, Lana," Mara murmured contritely.

"Open your mouth," Lana ordered gently, but firmly. "And don't look away."

Mara's jaw fell open on pure instinct, eyes shinning in both anticipation and love as Lana nudged her hips forward.

---

**Poyet Residence**

**Razorbeak Wood, Residence Tower One**

**Half-past Nine Bells Low**

Adrienne Hadley winced at the minimal light that filtered through the bedroom window. She had a bitch of a headache and absolutely no time to take off. She moaned a bit and made to roll off the bed when a sleep warmed arm wrapped around her waist.

"You shouldn't go in if you aren't in top shape," Sean's sleepy voice rumbled into the back of her neck, 'little Sean' starting to stiffen again and poke into her buttocks. He'd only just collapsed into bed as nine bells tolled and they hadn't done more than snuggled. "I hear Thrace can be a handful."

Adrienne snorted and grimaced, pulling herself about so she was nose-to-nose with her husband. "Based on what? You know 'Wulf is biased about anyone that can get along with Irene." She reached out and tweaked his nose. "Besides, I have to go in. Kara hates all her other doctors. Apparently, they 'smell wrong', quote unquote." She chuckled, then winced, quickly slipping out of bed and headed to the attached bathroom. Sean frowned and followed, arriving just in time to see her down three analgesics.

"You should see a neurologist about those migraines. You've never had them before."

She waved off his suggestion. "They run in my family, Sean. It's just the stress of having to keep up these…appearances." She turned to face him directly, leaning back against the sink. "I mean, I did just uproot my life from my 'estranged husband' to move in with my 'Pirate lover." She smirked at Sean's answering frown. "Look, we agreed it was the best cover available. We can go public with this little arrangement once things settle with the Provost."

Sean frown deepened, eyeing the number of pills she took. "If they don't stop soon, I will drag you to the neurology department myself."

"Hey," Adrienne chided, grabbing his chin and pulling so their eyes met. "Believe it or not, we doctors aren't so stupid as to ignore our own health."

"I just…I just don't like seeing you hurting for no reason, okay? I mean, screw Thrace and her freakish..." He paused as his lovely wife glared at him ferociously.

"Stop! Right there! Neither Thrace nor her unborn child are 'freakish'. They are, if anything, far superior to the rest of us." She suddenly grinned. "Well, to you, anyway. Me, not so much."

"Oh, ha ha." Sean shook his head and followed her to the kitchen, "Seriously, how are you any good to Thrace when you can barely stand more than ten percent illumination?"

"Medication is wonderfully advanced these days. The list of side effects have shrunk so its only as long as my forearm." At his returning frown, she sighed with exasperation. "Oh, calm down. Look, if they haven't cleared up by month's end, I'll let you _carry_ me to neurology yourself. Deal?"

Sean blew a raspberry, but nodded in acceptance, clearly not happy with the terms. "This is the best I'm going to get from you, isn't it?"

"Yup." To soften the tension radiating from him, Adrienne grinned mischievously and asked "Now, are you going to continue to needle me...or join me for a shower?"

Sean rubbed the bridge of his nose, frowning thoughtfully. "Damn it, woman, that's dirty pool."

"Damn straight," she giggled, flouncing past him, pulling him along in her wake as surely as the tide delivers all things to the beach.

---

**Razorbeak Wood Medical Tower**

**Togakon Ise Research Hospital**

**Prenatal Care Ward, Room Four**

**Quarter to One Bell High**

As one would expect, rooms in Prenatal Care were more like well-appointed apartment suites, all colored in 'soothing' earth tones and furnished in that aesthetically pleasing manner that is uniquely Gaian. The rooms were spacious, airy, and windows wide as any to be found in the settlement. Even the food was a step above the kitchen's normal fare and provided immediately upon demand.

By the fifth day of being shut up in their appointed suite, Kara and Irene were ready to commit murder to get out of there. By the seventh day they were contemplating – semi-seriously at any rate – mutual suicide as an escape; Kara by that point was starting to have unsettling flashbacks to New Caprica, and Irene just feeling stir crazy.

The various explanations of why they were there – more accurately, why Kara was there – had been less than satisfactory. Irene had been awakened from a late-afternoon nap at the sound of the gauss cannon bombardment, rushing to the ground level and arriving just in time to be all-but-shoved back upstairs to Togakon Ise with Kara by Svengaard and a small army of guards. The two of them were practically shoved into the first empty suite in Prenatal Care they came across, with the door secured from the outside with no less than four men in full combat armor in sight.

The Pirate Captain had explained in a hurried breath that there'd been a raid from an unknown vessel and that Kara had experienced some kind of 'episode' on the beach, which explained their being moved to the hospital. However it wasn't until Seven Bells Low that any of the medical staff actually came in to examine them, and conduct only cursory checks at that.

It was another hour after that before Irene's perfectly reasonable demand for her tablet and binder were finally met. _Mother goddess,_ she'd seethed. _The apartment is just one tower over. Surely they could have tapped someone to fetch the damned things faster! Right?_ Kara, for once, decided silence was the best course of action, and so busied herself sketching the Temple of Aurora as depicted in Pythia.

Still, while Kara appreciated the pancakes, fruits, waffles, meats, soups, cakes, ice cream, and garlic bread the staff provided, as well as the abundance of artistic supplies they dropped off, the every-harried staff weren't much help in enlightening them about exactly _why_ they were being locked in this tastefully-furnished gilded cage.

Even the base's internal datalinks were of no help there. Yes, a ship was intercepted and seized off the coast, said ship turning out to be a new class of 'foil that was both heavier armored and armed than known classes. It was further speculated, and later confirmed, the ship was of Hive manufacture. There was even a lively discussion going on the message boards over how it had managed to slip in so close to the base, what its weapons were, and why Lady Skye was keeping it quiet. To their mutual relief, there wasn't so much as a whisper about Kara's own presence. Irene was actually more puzzled over the assertion a Locust boil had shown up; if accurate, it would be the second sighting of such since Planetfall, and surely should be causing more of a stir.

In the absence of more concrete accounts, Irene and Kara found their imaginations taking over, which ultimately became so vivid it had Irene storming off to speak with Commander Skye-Svensgaard. Kara had taken to painting whenever she and Irene weren't systematically butchering the _Enn-gleesh_ language, and so had plenty of to keep her occupied. Reading the printed word was coming a little easier for her now, and she'd been nothing if not voracious in her reading. She was especially interested in Earth's history, finding it as dense and convoluted as a comprehensive history of the Twelve Colonies.

She was in the midst of such reading when Irene stomped back into their suite, muttering what Kara presumed were curses upon a certain Pirate commander, not sparing her a single glance before shutting herself into the bathroom. There were the sounds of toiletries being knocked around and nearly had Kara going to see what was wrong, on to hear the shower started running. Shrugging to herself, Kara returned to her LinkTablet and the history of Alexander II's Macedonian empire.

She was up to Alexander's reaching the Himalayas when Irene finally emerged amid a cloud of steam, skin flushed and wrapped in a hospital robe. Kara took one look at her and rolled her eyes. "Do I need to get a ma'd t' clean up in there?" she asked.

Irene blushed a little darker, but was saved from having to respond when the suite's door was opened again, Ghengis Hakim marching into the room and addressing Irene without preamble. "Professora? You asked for this?" He handed her what looked like an ordinary LinkTablet, albeit one slightly larger than those they presently had.

"Thank you, Op…" Irene started to reply as she took the Tablet, only to be stopped by Hakim's loudly clearing his throat. "Sorry. Thank you, _Ghengis_." She smiled as she said this, which was returned in equal measure.

"A pleasure, Professora." He turned to leave, only to pause just short of the door. "Oh, and Gretchen says the dinner invitation is still open. Just so you know." He tapped on the door, which was opened by one of the guards standing there, exiting without another word.

"An' tha' wuz?" Kara asked.

"One of Beo…one of Commander Skye-Svensgaard's personal crew. His 'posse', he calls them." Irene shook her head. "They all _insist_ I call them by their given names. Damned if I know why."

Kara merely clicked her tongue, then asked "Tha' something important?"

"It's just some data I'd requested. Nothing too important, I think." Irene was silently relieved when Kara declined to press further, instead standing and heading to patio-balcony attached to this suite. It afforded a beautiful view of the bay and ocean beyond; one could even see the Monolith standing like a solitary sentinel on a small peninsula near the mouth of the bay itself. She and Kara had spent many hours sitting there, enjoying the small taste of freedom it afforded, and only the fact it was a good 120 foot drop to the ground had kept the two of them from tying their bed sheets into a rope and escape that way.

Irene made a snap decision and hustled into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. She settled herself on the still-unmade bed and positioned the Vid-Tablet for best viewing. Taking a breath, Irene activated the viewer and watched its recording carefully.

---

_The recording opens to a wide vista of the beach at the base of Razorbeak Wood. Kara Thrace is visible in the foreground, slowly walking along the fine sand. The time stamp in the lower left corner reads exactly seven days ago, 5:03:10H, three minutes after Five Bells High._

_5H:03:15 – Kara continues her walk, then pauses._

_5H:03:25 – A whistling sound begins, somewhere in the distance. Kara remains standing where she is._

_5H:03:30 – Impactor craters from artillery rounds blossom on the beach nearby. There is shouting in the background._

_5H:03:50 – More whistles, more impacts. Kara is still standing still._

_5H:04:15 – Ulrik Svensgaard is seen sprinting towards Kara, who as actually wandered further up the beach now._

_5H:04:35 – More whistles, more impacts. But there is another sound in the background now. A buzzing that is infinitely more terrifying than the number of shells hitting the beach._

_5H:04:52 – The buzzing has become louder and louder. Captain Svensgaard has thrown himself prone on the sand. Kara remains still now, head cocked to one side._

_5H:05:11 – A Locust boil emerges from the forest outside the barrier. It hovers there, pulsating like a beating heart, a dark cloud of buzzing death._

_5H:05:20 – In the blink of an eye, the Locusts separate into two distinct swarms. _

_5H:05:22 – In another blink of an eye, the two swarms are upon their respective targets: the boat in the bay, and Kara Thrace._

_5H:05:57 – The Locust swarms have not moved from their positions, their buzzing overriding all other noise._

_5H:06:45 – "Yes. It's a beautiful song. Thank you for sharing." Kara Thrace's voice, but not amplified over the Locusts. It merely…overrides…all other sound._

_5H:07:35 – "Please, stop. You're frightening them." Kara's voice again overriding everything else._

_5H:07:45 – The two Locust swarms pull away from their targets. The boat in the bay bobs with the waves, no long apparently under anyone's control. But Kara Thrace is wholly and completely untouched. She stands there, head upturned, watching the deadly swarm vanish from sight._

_5H:08:08 – Kara stumbles slightly as Captain Svensgaard slowly approaches her. She turns to him and asks "__What...what th' frak jus' happen'd?" This time the sound has to be artificially boosted to pick it up over the sound of the incoming tide._

Irene cut the viewer off, hand shaking badly as she did. It was a struggle not to throw the instrument against the wall, disbelief warring with outright panic within her. To that moment, she hadn't given much credence to the stories of a Locust boil appearing there; it had seemed too fantastic to credit.

But now, having seen it with her own eyes…

She was on her feet, out of the bedroom and standing at the door to the balcony before fully realizing it. Kara was standing there, leaning against the railing, here eyes on the distant horizon. Irene could hear her humming a tune that was oddly, if vaguely familiar. This immediately stopped when she spun about to face Irene with a worried frown.

"Whu'z wrong?" Kara asked quickly, expression clouding.

"Nothing." Irene snapped, angry with herself and uncertain how to deal with it. She gave herself a shake and said "When you…there's…Kara?"

"Hmm?"

"There's something I think you should see. Not now, but…but soon. Okay?"

"Um, okay."

"Whenever you're ready to come back inside."

"Okay."

Irene lingered there for another moment, then turned and went back to her bedroom. Kara watched her go, biting her lower lip in worry. Once Irene was out of sight, she let go of a small breath and said "You can come out now."

A solitary Locust squirmed its way out of the tangle of her hair. Once free of the blonde strands, it spread its wings and hovered near her cheek. Kara closed her eyes in quiet bliss, murmuring "Lovely song we sing…"

The Locust dipped close to her cheekbone, and then took flight, quickly vanishing into the open sky above. "See you later," Kara said quietly, watching the small creature depart. She kept her gaze skywards, allowing herself to wonder (as she did only once a day) how soon before Lee and the fleet caught up with her.

---

**Half-past Four Bells High**

They were eating dinner when Lady Skye made her appearance. Irene had calmed a bit since then, but had (somewhat pointedly) declined to share what had left her almost bouncing off the walls. Kara didn't press because she'd been wrestling with her own issues, like how she seemed to be blacking out somewhat routinely now. It was a minor frakking miracle Irene had surprised her when she had on the balcony earlier, otherwise she might have tumbled over the railing…

"Captain," the Gaian leader nodded as they stood in greeting. "Doctor. Please, don't get up."

"Would ya like some?" Kara spoke around a mouthful of fruit salad.

"Thank you, Captain." Lady Skye spooned a small serving for herself and sat in one of the table's unoccupied chairs. "I apologize for not coming to you sooner and explaining your sudden relocation. We've been…"

"Who's 'we'?" Kara broke in.

Lady Skye didn't so much as blink at the interruption. "My allied leaders and senior aides. We've been…wrestling with some new information gleaned from the incident on the beach."

"Fer a ho' week?"

Deirdre nodded. "Some intelligence coming from that ship that attacked…well, it was unexpected and a tad suspicious."

"Somethin' I c'n help wi'?" Kara asked.

"Should I leave the room?" Irene queried at the same moment.

"No, and no." Lady Skye answered both firmly. "Our analysts are already finished with this small windfall, Captain. And your clearance, Doctor, is being elevated so there isn't another…issue…with my son's office."

"Okay. So you were sayin'?" Kara prompted after a moment.

"Yes, right. You were relocated here, Captain, because of some concerns about the progress of your pregnancy." Kara eye's widened in impending panic, prompting Deirdre to raise a placating hand and firmly add "Nothing is wrong, Captain. In fact, according to the physician in charge, you're practically the textbook example of a healthy, normal pregnancy."

Kara eyed her carefully. "So, if everythin'z okay, why put us here?"

"Well, we'd like to make sure you stay healthy and all this proceeds normally. The rooms here are just as good as the Admin Tower, no?"

"Yah, s'pretty good." Kara ate another spoonful of citrus and banana analog and gave Lady Skye another measured look. "Tha' isn't all o'it, is it?"

"No, its not, and I confess I'm reluctant to bring this other matter up right now."

"Sounds ominous," Irene observed, eyes on her own food.

"It is," Lady Skye admitted after another moment. "But I suspect you, Captain, are the only…capable of what I need to ask…"

"Um, Lady?" Kara interrupted again. "C'n you quit dancin' and jus' tell me where you want me to fly the Raptor?" Dierdre and Irene both blinked and stared at her in shocked silence, which Kara dove into in her trademark fashion.

"I mean, that's pretty much the only thin' that makes me stand out on this planet, and that'd have you nervous about askin' me to do anythin' given how _important_ you say I am. Meaning this has somethin' t'do wi' flying the Raptor somewhere, an' probably somewhere in a combat zone. My reasoning good so far?"

"Um, yes."

"Okay. You've also had people already go over my bird, right? Then you know it's presently unarmed."

"We noticed that," Lady Skye admitted carefully. "We also noticed the hull had…ports…for mounting externals?"

"Yah. Raptors are meant to be scouts mainly, but they also served as fire support for space and ground forces. Standard add-ons were usually missile launchers that could be tossed when they were empty." Kara kept eating, chewing her food as carefully as Deirdre chewed over this information. After what she judged was an appropriate span, Kara asked "How bad is it?"

"It's a protracted siege of our third-largest settlement, Gaia's High Garden. I don't have the manpower left to reinforce the garrison there, and they've been under nearly constant attack for the last year. They're holding, but only just. The Hive troops there have actually taken to scorching the soil, so they can't farm it, and they've already destroyed the roads we had cleared."

Kara turned to Irene and asked "Hive?"

"Yang's collective, situated above Spartan territory in the Northern Wastes," the academic reported. "Pretty big population for what we know, with a lot of manufacturing capacity but not much in material resources to begin with."

"Bad guys?"

Irene shrugged. "Yang's all about control and making a 'secure' society. Basically he's the epitome of an old-fashioned dictator, albeit one who claims to be 'enlightened'. How one finds enlightenment by herding your people into underground bunkers, I've no idea."

"Sounds like a fun guy."

Irene shrugged again, not wanted to say more. Deirdre understood only too well; Irene had lost her only brother early in the current war, reportedly to a Hive raid, and so recognized where she wouldn't be entirely rational on the subject.

"The point, Captain, is that I have a community of nearly 15,000 under siege and can't do anything to save them. The garrison is close to collapse and…"

Kara held up a hand as she swallowed the last of her lunch. "You've got me sold, Lady. But I'll nee' a lot more intel to plan it properly."

"Such as?"

"I'll need detailed cartographical data on the area, an' specs on your weapon systems I c'n read so I c'n tell which ones will work on the Raptor."

Lady Skye nodded, having anticipated exactly those requests. "I'm having all that drawn up as we speak."

Irene's eyebrows rose, but Kara didn't so much as blink, leaving Deirdre to wonder what it would be like to play cards against her. Probably end up loosing her shirt, and good bit more besides.

"I'm not promisin' anythin'," Kara warned her. "I really need to check over the Raptor an' make sure it's still flight-worthy."

"So long as you allow medical staff to monitor you while you…"

Kara interrupted with a short laugh. "You've got this base wired to watch me all over. I'm sure you'll know any problems before _I_ do." Her face fell as soon as she said this, eyes suddenly clouded. "I, uh, don't know why I just said that." She looked between Irene and Skye and asked in a quiet voice "What's happening to me?"

Irene took a shaking hand into her own, but neither woman had any answers to offer her.

---

**Battlestar **_**Galactica**_

**Joe's Bar**

**Day 50 after Mutiny**

**Third Shift**

Third shift was normally quiet as a proverbial tomb, which was one of the reasons Lee had settled himself in a corner table to nurse his pseudo-gin drink in relative peace. There were a handful of other crew about, but to a one were more concerned with themselves to pay him any mind. Somebody was tapping the keys to the antique (and sounding decidedly out-of-tune) piano that had been dug up from gods-alone-knew-where, but otherwise the place was quiet.

Lee found himself spending more and more time on _Galactica_ than he did _Colonial One_. This actually helped his peace of mind a bit, especially given clean-up of the old Quorum Room was still ongoing. Not that managing the other ship's captains was quite as easy as soothing the egos of career politicians. They'd started making noises about cannibalizing redundant or non-working systems off _Galactica_ herself, a thought Lee had to admit made a lot of sense but which he hadn't quite worked up the courage to broach with his father.

Just as well he hadn't. Tyrol's little discovery of the growing weakness of the ship's superstructure came on top of Laura's health taking a further dive. The chemo treatments she'd been getting didn't seem to be accomplishing much and Lee was starting to suspect the only thing keeping her going was her work on translating the data Baltar had found on Earth. Her command of Tauronese dialects was apparently shakier than she'd thought, but she'd come up with a crude alphabet for the text pieces that gave them some ideas on what they were looking at.

The other data proved only marginally more useful. Hoshi had managed to decode enough of the navigational material to determine the probable course of whatever colonization mission the people from that planet had launch (provided they'd managed to do so before blowing themselves to dust). Ironically, it was in the opposite direction they were presently heading, and there was still some discussion happening between the Admiral and himself over whether or not to change course.

On top of all that was the small matter of Sam Anders going missing. As the man's legal proxy, Lee was sure he should have been a bit more worried about the Cylons having up and 'appropriated' him to somewhere aboard _Galactica_; he was sure they hadn't gotten him off-ship, although beyond that he had no ideas where they might have moved him, never mind why. The poor sod was a vegetable, no question, so what they could want with him in the first place was a mystery.

Whatever worry Lee might've had for Sam was swamped by the neverending crises that were gripping the fleet. Not the least of which was how _Galactica _herself seemed to be suffering power losses in the oddest places at the oddest moments. Tyrol couldn't explain it, given the seemingly random nature of the losses.

As if to reinforce the point, the lights overhead flickered and flared, then died to a bare glow. There were groans and curses from the other bar patrons, but Lee himself stayed silent. He just closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, trying to fight down the impending headache. Whoever was on the piano seemed to have gotten their stride, and was now playing a halfway decent melody. Lee couldn't identify the song, but then music appreciation hadn't been his strongest suit at school.

He could have sworn something buzzed past his ear as he listened, which he sharply swatted away. But there was nothing there, leaving Lee wondering just how out of tune both he and that damned piano actually were if it was making him hear things…

Tigh's voice filtered across the darkened and almost-empty space. "Pass the word. President Adama, contact the ship's XO. Aye-ess-aye-pee." Lee groaned aloud, more at the Colonel's choice of title for him than anything else. Roslin never technically took the Oath after she'd returned from the Hub mission, and gods knew he'd been running everything in fact if not name. Still, to actually hear himself referred to "President"…it was jarring.

Lee simply shook his head and stood. The lights brightened again as he did, leaving him to just shake his head again and walk to the nearby wall-phone. Picking up the receiver and dialing the main board, he requested the Colonel's line from the young-sounding enlisted manning the board then. Barely ten seconds later he had Tigh hissing in his ear. _"Where are you?"_

"Joe's Bar. Why?"

"_Get down to Aux-E Closet, on C deck."_

"Again, why?"

"_Just…just get down here. Fast!" _Tigh cut the line abruptly, and it was all Lee could do not to slam the receiver back onto its cradle. Instead, he just huffed a breath and batted at that phantom-buzzing again (he wouldn't have minded if it came after he'd downed two or three drinks; at least then he'd have something respectable to blame such auditory hallucinations on), then marched himself out to the aforementioned rendezvous. If it was something serious, he obviously needed to know.

And if it wasn't? Well, it wouldn't be the first time he'd held a gun on Tigh's head.

---

**Auxiliary Air Filters Maintenance Closet**

**Deck C**

"You have got to be frakking kidding me."

That was, quite literally, all Lee could think to say at the sight that greeted him past the door.

Like the rest of the remaining Colonial leadership, he'd made a visit over to the cylon's basestar and viewed its Hybrid, who'd even gone so far as to slew its empty eyes onto him directly and babbled something about "son" or "sun" or something he'd missed. What had actually struck him more was how the chamber seemed to be one continuous piece of machinery, without any indication any of it could be removed or replaced if it malfunctioned.

Clearly he'd been wrong there, given the cylons had somehow turned the maintenance closet into a miniature version of the same chamber, with Samuel T. Anders lying in the 'tub' at the center of it all. His head had been shaved and there were crude-looking electrodes sticking into him at odd-points. What was the most unnerving was how Anders was clearly conscious, but simply…staring…out into nothing. Even the Hybrid on the basestar was more expressive than the naked man lying there.

That would all come to him later, after he'd had time to absorb the shock and the rest. At that moment, his thought and words focused on a single fact. "You mean…_he's_ the reason behind everything malfunction?"

"My words exactly," Tigh nodded, then threw a mild glare over towards the Six and Eight who stood nearby. "Don't even ask me _how_ they managed this."

"We were trying to help him," the Six, whose platinum blonde locks were cut to a bob, but whose stance was anything but intimidated. "Your people couldn't, and he's one of ours."

"So you turn him into…this…?" Lee gestured helplessly towards the contraption before them.

"We thought…we hoped we could…" The Eight tried to explain, but quickly stumbled and looked to her fellow.

The Six didn't so much as blink. "We thought that by connecting him to some of your redundant sub-systems might help…um…"

"Reboot?" Lee offered faintly.

"Essentially, yes."

"Have you ever tried it on another of your number?"

The short staring contest that went between them ended when the Six admitted "No. It's never been tried."

"At least you're honest," Tigh muttered, earning him a glare from the Six and Eight both.

"So what's actually happening?" Lee asked, hoping to break the tension a little.

It was the Eight who responded then saying "At best guess, he's…exploring."

"Exploring?" Tigh chuckled harshly. "How is he 'exploring' when he's just lying there?"

The Six took up from there. "We think his consciousness is…has expanded, to where it's little more than electrical impulses from his autonomic nervous system, which in turn have moved beyond him and into your own electrical systems. The Hybrids on basestars have the same rudimentary consciousness, but it's intersped with external stimuli and inputs, so they aren't as internally focused and prone to causing disruptions like this."

Lee and Tigh just looked at her, the latter ultimately concluding "You haven't got the foggiest frakking idea what's happening with him, do you?" The blonde woman just shook her head. "Frakking wonderful," the Colonel muttered, throwing a look at Lee.

"Is this machine keeping him alive?" Lee asked.

"No."

"Will he die immediately if you shut off the connection between him and the ship?"

"No. We…"

"Then unplug him before he causes something worse to happen!" Lee couldn't think of a time since becoming President where he'd so much as raised his voice, never mind given a full-out bellow like this. It had the desired effect as the two cylons quickly knelt and disconnected a single cable from the tub's side, causing the thick fluid in it to instantly darken. There'd been a light hum in the background that Lee had totally missed until it ceased as well.

"What are you going to do now?" the Six asked.

"Post a guard outside and start discussions with your leaders about moving him," Lee stated flatly. "Like you said, he's one of yours." He opened the door and motioned everyone to leave, with himself bringing up the rear. He took a single look back at the still, silent form, then closed the hatch behind him.

---

**Razorbeak Wood **

**Covert Ops Center, Admin Tower, 12****th**** Floor**

**Half pas Six Bells Low**

**Day 47**

Kara was still sleeping when Irene had awoken that day. Lady Skye had been good to her word and two LinkTablets had been delivered, each containing the requested data, before half past Five Bells. Kara had spent the whole of a quarter bell going over the cartographical material, scribbling a couple long equations on a page of script paper, then set that aside and turned her attention to the weapons specs.

Irene noted how she scrolled quickly past the heavy projectile cannons and chemical slug-throwers. She likewise ignored the prototype plasma weapons and resonance laser arrays, and instead zeroed in on missile batteries. Kara started scribbling down notes again, mainly ones notating weight and dimensions of launchers Irene noted; Kara's ideas of numbers closely approximating Earth standards, albeit with the odd extra curve or three on some of the symbols. Translating them therefore hadn't been that onerous. Interpreting those notes however was going to take longer.

Seven Bells High had sounded when Irene suggested they retire for the night, fully anticipating a fight on Kara's part. She'd been surprised when Kara simply nodded and shut the Tablets down, then rose and walked to her bedroom, immediately rolling onto her side and falling straight to sleep. Irene bit her lip, uncertain if this was a good sign or not.

Morning ablutions complete, Irene decided to risk a quick errand to Covert Ops. Although the point hadn't been raised yet, there was no question in her mind that she'd be accompanying Kara on the flight. She had no flight training whatsoever, but there was simply no-one else who could be trusted to look after Kara in the unlikely event they were shot down.

However, before she went into the field again (it was good odds no-one outside of Nassir and Lady Skye knew about her real work before getting sent to Uni-Base), she needed to…reacquire a certain piece of personal property. Said property, unfortunately, residing with the single person on Planet she…well…

Better she get this over with before her brain drifted in directions better avoided, even as her feet carried her into the proverbial lions den.

Surprisingly, Irene found the secretary's desk unoccupied and the door to Beowulf's office cracked open. She felt an immediate stab of panic and, before fully realizing it, was moving forward and easing into the Commander's office, finding it likewise empty. There was no stopping the squeak of surprise issuing from her throat when a second throat cleared sharply. She spun to find Beowulf Skye-Svensgaard staring at her, an open paper file in his hands.

"Something I can assist you with, Professora?" he asked coolly.

Irene quickly righted herself and forced their eyes to meet. It proved more of a struggle than she cared for, given Wulf was decked out in a simple jumpsuit that was just a hair under 'form-fitting'. "I, ah, need my ops gear."

"Oh?" He snapped the filed shut and put it back into the cabinet drawer at his elbow, which promptly closed and clicked lock on its own. Wulf folded his arms, squared his shoulders, and regarded her as if she were some exotic new insect…one he was about to squash, just on principle. "I wasn't aware you'd been seconded to CovOps as well as _Inward Bound_."

"I haven't been 'seconded', as you well know." Irene clenched her fists, fighting to keep from mirroring Wulf's stance. She likewise fought to keep her voice even and calm and even – Mother Goddess help her here – _reasonable_. "My status has always been Category Eight, Commander. You know that. I just…I need my gear for an upcoming operation."

"Oh?" Wulf drawled again. "And what 'operation' is that?"

"If you don't know about it, Commander, you evidentially don't have a need to know about it." Irene took a huffing breath and shook her head, trying to keep it clear of the urge to tear that jumpsuit open and…well, her options were pretty broad then.

She shook her head again and said "Look, Commander, I didn't come here for a fight." Wulf snorted sharply, but Irene pressed on. "I know you have the equipment I was assigned, so can we just…will you please hand it over?" Irene forced herself to meet his still-narrowed eyes. "Please?"

"Category Eight personnel are restricted to support roles, Professora."

"I'm aware of that. That's effectively the berth I'll be occupying here." She swallowed and went for broke. "Please, Beowulf? Can I just get my equipment so I can get out of your hair?"

They remained like that for several long beats, Beowulf breaking the silence first. "Fine." He took a half-turn to his left and knocked a section of the wall immediately behind him with his shoulder. A panel slid open to reveal two complete sets of combat armor, web gear, tactical helmets, and a single sheathed sword. Wulf took the last out first and presented it to Irene, scabbard resting in his open and upright palms.

Irene in turn took the weapon into her own hands, easily drawing the blade from his sheath. "You really kept it?" she murmured with mild wonder.

"Its not like I have much use for it," Beowulf snorted, hoping she missed the obvious lie.

Two centuries ago the sword would have been known as a Nimcha, a fearsome weapon common to northwestern Africa and well-respected by all. This was as faithful a reproduction as any might manage, and had been a special point of pride for Irene that she'd forged the blade herself. It had irritated her mightily when her appointment to a front-line team in CovOps had been denied, and had left the blade and her assigned kit with Beowulf for safekeeping, unaware at the time it had been his signature that kept her out. She hadn't actually thought about the blade since then, not even to wonder if he'd bothered to keep it, never mind give it proper care and maintenance.

Curious now, Irene brushed the pad of her thumb across the edge of the metal, wincing at finding it honed to a fine edge. Similarly, she could smell a peculiar scent coming off the blade. "You've been oiling this? With what, dare I ask?"

"Sealurk oil," Wulf stated flatly, gathering the rest of her Ops kit. Irene turned sharply to stare at his turned back. "I've got a contact at Great Lagoon who passed me some." The oils extracted from Sealurk blubber was among the rarest commodities to be found on Planet, if only because sighting one of the damned serpents – never mind killing one – proved an event in itself. The myriad of uses that had been found for the stuff didn't hurt its value either.

"Thank you," Irene heard herself say as she re-sheathed the sword.

"Don't mention it." Beowulf turned and all but shoved the bundled kit into her arms. "To anyone." Irene wasn't sure what to make of this, and Wulf was evidentially in no mood to give her time to puzzle it out. "Will there be anything else, Professora?

"Um…"

"Good day, then." He pushed passed her and returned to his desk, keeping his head down and face out of sight. Irene decided she'd pushed her luck there well-past breaking point and made a quick exit. She couldn't help but flinch at the minor racket of data chips getting tossed to the floor that followed her out.

She beat a hasty retreat back to the Medical Tower, the trip taking her a quarter-bell at most. She was not a little relieved to find Kara had migrated from her bedroom to the balcony, and was presently reclining on one of the sun chair there. She'd stripped down to her underwear and was presently sunbathing, face a picture of relaxed bliss. Irene couldn't immediately tell if she was wake or not, given her eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, but the way she was humming suggested sleep was a ways off for her.

Perhaps it was delayed reaction to her confrontation with Beowulf, but Irene suddenly felt…chilled. Unsettled even. It actually proved a bit of effort to walk the half-dozen steps to the balcony door. She managed only three before nausea hit, sending her running for the bathroom. What remained of yesterday's dinner _and_ lunch was expelled into the toilet with such force, Irene found her nose running and eyes watering from the strain.

She was still shaking when Kara came in and knelt down beside her. "You okay?"

"Yeh…yeah," Irene panted, spitting out the last bit of bile on her tongue as she did. "Goddess, that's nasty."

"What's wrong?"

"I…uh, had to see Commander Skye-Svensgaard." Irene offered a wavering smile. "Guess it…guess he upsets me more than I like to think about."

Kara gave her a skeptical look over the rims of her aviators, then stood and helped Irene to her feet, not so much as grunting from the effort. "Ready to start working again?" Irene asked, privately hoping it would help her forget about needing to worship the porcelain goddess; some embarrassments were better left forgotten as quickly as possible.

Kara's response had her forgetting all that almost instantly. "Oh, I already finished it."

"You did?" Irene frowned. "When?"

"When you were out getting your…stuff." Kara picked up the sheathed sword from where Irene had set it on the dining room table, a thoughtful expression to her.

"It's called a Nimcha," Irene explained, gently taking it from Kara's loose, almost slack hold on it. "And you were saying? About finishing the mission plan?"

"Uh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I already outlined everything." Kara shook herself out of her momentary stupor (Irene made a mental note to suggest another nap for her) and picked up the CommPad she'd take to using for reading and writing lessons. She opened a file and handed it to Irene, who scrolled through the text. While her operational experience was fairly minimal, Irene had seen enough mission plans to recognize there was both authority and experience behind this one. The fact it amounted to nothing more than a fast bombing run didn't mean it was _simple_;exact scheduling, deployment orders, logistic chains and security, and so on needed to be addressed clearly.

Yet reading Kara's plan, which left nothing out and addressed every relevant point, made it sound simple enough a child could pull it off. Which left only one question to Irene's mind.

"When did you have time to write this?"

"I told you: when you were out."

"Kara, that was _barely_ three-quarters of a bell."

"It was?" The honey-haired woman shook her head and moved off, checking the display on the vid-screen embedded into the nearby wall. "It was," she murmured, and offered a nearly-breathless "Wow."

"Wow, indeed," Irene agreed, checking the date-stamps on the file itself. Either something was malfunctioning - several somethings in fact, Kara's own memory among them - or Kara really had managed to write a twenty-page mission plan into the tablet in the whole of twenty-eight standard minutes. She frowned and checked again.

No, it was more like ten minutes from the time Kara had reportedly created the file to the first time she saved it. The word count decreased by ten and size of the file didn't change substantially between 'saves'. Irene suspected the modifications were something so superfluous they'd never be missed.

Looking back up, Irene saw her nominal charge busy herself brewing a small pot of tea. It was…jarring…to try to reconcile that scene with the image of Kara Thrace piloting a needlejet into battle. Jarring, yet somehow not.

Irene didn't try to reconcile the competing images, knowing it would only give her a serious headache, and she had more than enough of those. Kara finished preparing her tea and picked up the pot and china cup. "I'm going to go sit outside," she announced with a small yawn.

"Okay," Irene agreed needlessly. "I'll set up a meeting with Lady Skye so you can present your plan." She knew this likely to be just a _pro forma_ move, but protocol existed for a reason, and Irene Fedotov was damned if she was going to break it…unlike certain Pirates she could mention, but _never_ would.

---

**Covert Ops Central, Secure Room I**

**Day 48**

**Four Bells High**

Lady Skye, Captain Svensgaard, their son, and Nassir were the only other ones in attendance as Kara made her short presentation. Nassir nodded at odd points, clearly approving of what he heard. Captain Svensgaard grimaced at mention of the suggested ordinance, but otherwise looked pleased.

Commander Skye-Svensgaard pointedly ignored Irene's presence, focusing exclusively on Kara. If his dark scowl was meant to unnerve her, it was a wasted effort. After Kara explained it would only be herself and Irene flying, he made his one contribution to the briefing. "I disagree that the Professora should be part of the flight crew. Her clearance…"

His father sharply interrupted there. "Doctor Fedotov's clearance was re-set to Nine-Tango, Commander." Irene spent the rest of the briefing not looking in Beowulf's direction, occupying her mind with the ways she could leave him crippled (and worse) without leaving physical markings. She was well into double-digits by the time Kara finished.

At the end, Lady Skye had only one question:

"How soon can you take off, Captain?"

---

**Map Reference Echo-Bravo-Four**

**2 kilometers northeast of Gaia's High Garden**

**Eastern shore, Emperyon Bay, Pangea**

**Day 49 **

(The following is an excerpt from _Planet's History Volume 2: Foundations Laid_, by Augustus Augustine Goodwin)

_The few survivors of the Hive's 28__th__ and 31__st__ Missile Artillery Batteries - the 'Red Lances' and 'Black Javelins' respectively - would always refer to incident in question as "The Fire Rain". _

_The two divisions, both 2,000 strong and fully supplied, had been dug into the now-desolate hills looking down upon the Gaian settlement for most of the last year. They'd performed their assigned tasks of supporting the Eighth Expeditionary Army, hammering the settlement at odd intervals and basically leaving the once rich land around it barren. Weak as Skye's people were at war, they knew how to build durable homes, and even dumb animals can turn vicious when cornered. Hence the Eighth Expeditionary limiting itself simply to scorching the land around the settlement down to the bedrock and work at starving them into surrender. _

_One of the surviving artillerymen was named Alfredo Jin, his position being the equivalent of a 'spotter' for the artillery, requiring him to be situated somewhat closer to the 'front' as his historical counterparts. This ultimately was what saved his life as his position was well away from both the batteries and their ammo dumps. Furthermore, modern advances in computer-boosted optics and polymorphic software meant he depended more upon training in quadratic equations than a pair of sharp eyes; which was just as well given he was actually mildly nearsighted. It likewise required he be situated in a hardened mini-bunker, and so he was able to observe what happened from relative safety._

_---_

_In Jin's own words:_

"_We'd received orders to step up bombardment of the settlement itself. To that point we'd just concentrated on the perimeter fortifications and the farms. The siege hadn't been pushed forward before, so this was a new development. My section Chief had ordered me forward of the firing line to get a scope on key targets and alternative vectors. This was on the 432__nd__ day of the siege. _

"_I'm very good at my job, so I had the designated targets scoped and their coordinates entered for the batteries by the end of the 434__th__ day. It took that long because I had to spend most of the intervening day just getting into position. The Gaians had brought in some artillery of their own and were firing harassment shots at our general position._

"_It was in the later afternoon that day that things…the Fire Rain happened. There's no other description for it._

"_I was in the process of uploading the target coordinates to my unit command when my transmission beam was disrupted. For a moment I thought it was some new Gaian cyberguard; we'd all heard of how their datalinks were now impenetrable thanks to some kind of super programming. The same second as the signal disruption registered, I heard a sonic boom overhead, complete with a pressure wave that made my ears pop _hard_! _

"_Naturally I flattened to the ground, thinking it was a needlejet flying overhead. It occurred to me a moment afterwards that the Gaians didn't have any aircraft at this specific base, at least not since the ones already there had been shot down earlier in the operation. I'd personally witnessed planes coming from the west getting shot down well before reaching the base itself, which left me wondering where this one came from._

"_I looked out from my shelter and saw…something…flying past directly overhead. It was smaller than a needlejet, but just as fast as one. It looked like a…box…with stubby wings on its sides. This aircraft shot across the air over my position and towards where my unit and the rest of the Eighth Expeditionary was mustering. It was low enough in the sky that I could see how it had smaller 'boxes' attached to its roof, but I was still too shocked by its sudden appearance to figure out what they were._

"_The aircraft banked to the north, following roughly where the Eighth had its perimeter. Once it was over there, it fired off what must have been a hundred missiles from its roof. Except it fired them all _straight up into the sky_. That was confusing enough, and I half expected them all to turn out to be fireworks…except they just kept climbing and climbing._

"_Then things got even…stranger…when the aircraft just…vanished in mid-flight. There was another sonic boom and a flash of light and it…it was gone. It couldn't have been more than two, three minutes between its appearance and disappearance._

"_That was when I realized there was a ringing in my ears. At first I thought it was just from the mysterious aircraft's appearance and disappearance, but I quickly realized it was getting louder. Looking back up at the sky, I saw the missiles had run out of fuel and were…were falling back to the ground! _

"_I knew enough about Gaian ordinance to realize they were likely Hellfires, and didn't even try to count the numbers that were falling on us. All I could think to do was scramble out of my shelter and run! _

"_So I broke cover and ran towards the Gaian perimeter. My post had been at most three hundred yards from there, but there was no way I could have covered that before the missiles hit. I didn't look back once when I ran. Probably just as well; when they hit, it must have been a mile or so from where I was, it was like a single great _eruption _of fire and roaring wind on my back. The pressure wave lifted me off my feet entirely and _threw_ me…I don't know how far because I backed out before I landed._

"_When I woke up, I was in a field hospital with Gaian troops working on me. My entire body was numb; I figured I was either dying or drugged. It must have been drugs because I drifted into unconsciousness after a few moments, not feeling anything more._

"_The next time I came to, I was in a secured hospital room with three other patients. I didn't recognize any of them, but like me they were all wrapped in bandages and antibiotic wraps. The doctors who watched us always appeared in full-body wraps and hardly touched any of us. At least they were kind when they talked to us, answering our questions carefully and always asking if we were comfortable. I sometimes think I should be more worried about this than I feel._

"_As it is, I just feel…numb. And tired. And a little happy that I'm not in the war anymore._

---

_Trooper Jin suffered third degree burns on 25% of his body, and second degree burns on another 30%. He also had both legs and his pelvis broken and virtually pulverized from landing after being thrown over 150 feet by the pressure wave of the explosion itself. _

_His injuries were mild in contrast to his fellow four survivors, two of whom lingered another planetary month, then passed quietly without ever fully regaining consciousness. Jin and the remaining two survivors remained in Gaian custody, their wounds judged too grievous to let them survive being repatriated._

_The single volley of Hellfire missiles used by the attacking aircraft resulted in a detonation equaling an estimated 125,000 tons of conventional explosives. Eighty percent of the Hive's Eighth Expeditionary Army was killed by the Fire Rain, either immediately in the missile volley and resulting detonation of its ammunition dumps, or from injuries sustained by the attack and going without adequate medical treatment. The remaining twenty percent, consisting primarily of support and maintenance units, quickly withdrew to Spartan territory and subsequently defected to the Free Drones to avoid retaliation by Chairman Yang._

_Although a formal Blood Truce would not be declared until the meeting of the Planetary Council some months later, the relief of Gaia's High Garden, coming on the heels of the seizure of Fort Superiority, marked the effective end of the second Spartan-Gaian war. Minor skirmishes across the front and on the sea north of Pangea would persist for some time afterwards, but there would be no further offensives undertaken by either side between then and the Council of 2231...._

---

**Battlestar Galatica**

**Auxiliary Air Filters Maintenance Closet**

**Deck C**

**Day 53**

Lee had been good to his word, having a Marine posted at the hatchway and even getting Cottle to make a cursory examination of Anders. Doc's prognosis was succinct as ever: "He's breathing, but that's _all_ he's doing." Lee didn't ask if "all" meant just "all noticeable movement"…or meant "all bodily functions". He just didn't want to know that much.

What he did know was that cylons, despite their professed concern for one of the Five, weren't all that quick to respond to his queries about moving Anders to the basestar. In fact he'd only just received a message stating that, short of his vitals about to terminate, they weren't prepared to allow him on-board. This led Lee to suspect all sorts of unpleasant things, but given the pair of cylons who'd set up this equipment were the ones who delivered the message, it didn't seem to be a major issue…for the cylons, at least.

For him personally, it became a consuming worry, taking up more and more of his headspace to the point where he was zoning out on other, more immediate issues.

After three days, he'd come to a tentative decision, one he knew wouldn't sit well with their allies…but one he suspected one specific party would approve of. Perhaps it was sleep-deprivation coupled with too much cylon-made coffee, but the latter easily outweighed the former in his mind; it was for this reason alone that he paid a visit to the Aux-E Closet on C Deck, immediately dismissing the guard from the hatch, then shut the door behind him and walked over to stand alongside the prone, unmoving body of Samuel T Anders.

The room smelled of recycled air and chlorine. That was all he could think as he gazed down at this man he'd alternately hated and respected…and envied. He felt neither pity or remorse or triumph, seeing him this way; the situation was what it was.

"I don't know you, Sam," he heard himself say, not knowing where the words were coming from and not able to stop them. "I know you...mattered to her. At least the...the vows you two took...those were important to her. She's not here...but...but I think...I want to think...she wouldn't want to see you just...just _linger _like this." It was only then that Lee realized he had a gun in his hand; it was his old sidearm, the one he was sure he'd left on _Galactica_ when he'd left his wings behind.

"Frak, listen to me," Lee mused aloud. I don't even know what the frak I'm doing now." Except that he did. He knew _exactly_ why he was there and what he planned, and his innate honesty commanded he admit so.

"I don't hate you, Sam. Not enough to make this personal, anyway. Stupid as it sounds, I'm doing it because I think…I know…it's what _she_ would do." Raising the gun with one, surprisingly steady arm, Lee lined the sights up with the silent man's forehead.

"I promise I'll find her, Sam," Lee whispered.

He thumbed back the hammer, his finger tightening on the trigger.

---

Were there anyone outside the hatch, they might have heard a dull _thud_, which could have been a gun shot. Or a body falling to the floor.

A second such noise followed, more muted this time, and sounding all the more terminal for it.

But there was no-one there to hear it, and so no-one knew what had transpired.

---

**Chairman's Bunker**

**The Hive**

**Northern Wastes (Northeastern Quadrant), Pangea Continent**

**Day 50**

Sheng-Ji Yang twirled the _bo_ staff he held, awaiting his opponent's next move. The young woman facing him wielded a _b__isento_, although she had the bladed end sheathed in thick hide for this match. The Chairman was neither pleased nor displeased with this decision; it was her's to make and her's to answer for.

"Flesh and bone are tools, like any other," he said, again neither pleased nor displeased by the lack of reaction his sudden declaration elicited. He was, just fractionally, surprised himself when she replied in the same smooth tone.

"Tools depend upon the skill of those who wield them, else they are of no value. No?"

"Yes, you know this." To emphasize the point, the Chairman executed a four-blow strike with his staff, each blow blocked the same instant he swung. "As man is but another tool for use, it falls upon those who have reached enlightenment to ensure their proper use."

His opponent chose to twirl her own staff now, presenting the tapered end towards him. "If man is indeed but a tool, how then can the enlightened claim a greater role? Would that not mean they themselves are a tool?"

"The enlightened can claim their greater role by virtue of recognizing themselves as a tool, an accident of life, and thus able to transcend that role."

More blows were exchanged, most glancing, a few not.

"By that line of reasoning," the opponent rejoined. "Enlightenment is achieved only by the exercise of will against others." She dodged a trio of jabs aimed at her head from the end of the Chairman's staff, ignoring the opening this appeared to afford her. Rather she flipped her own weapon about, holding it once more at the ready and "on guard".

The Chairman felt just a trickle of irritation at this. Such a position was inherently one of defense, of weakness, rather than strength. He would simply have to drive that point home as _forcefully_ as possible, starting now.

He executed a series of acrobatic jumps and rolls, which had the virtue of being as confusing as they were dizzying, leading the target to drop their guard as they mis-directed their concentration on his movements. At least that was the prevailing theory behind them. His opponent was made of far sterner stuff, however, her eyes taking in his every move as he closed the space between them. When he did finally strike, he did so with his staff becoming less than a blur.

The opponent managed to block the majority of these strikes, but not without her balance faltering and a few blows reaching her. One of these actually dislodged the bisento from her hands and sent it spinning away. The girl rallied immediately, dodging another series of strikes, weaving herself through them like a viper. The Chairman modified his attacks, mixing his targets to cover both her head, torso, and legs…yet he continued to fail to land another blow!

If this failure left the Chairman either frustrated or even mildly irritated, he allowed none of it to so much as flicker across his conscious mind. Rather he tried another gambit, executing a wide sweep, the length of his staff aimed at her legs, which was easily dodged. This should have left her vulnerable to the second sweeping blow, this one aimed at her head, which came ten times faster than the first. There should have been no conceivable way for her to dodge it...

Save that the girl simply _dropped _out of the staff's arc, executing a perfect split, then sprang back to her feet the same second the weapon's length was past. This maneuver actually left the Chairman surprised, causing him to pause; it lasted no more than a single second, which was five seconds longer than he would normally have tolerated such shock. By the time he recovered, his opponent put distance between them via a smooth series of back-flips, her movements fluid and nearly hypnotic. There was no concealment or misdirection toward her target: her own weapon, which lay a good ten feet back.

The Chairman set in pursuit, his staff twirling and barely missing his targets ankles and wrists as they moved. He held no illusions this attack would likewise fail; nevertheless he attempted it, conscious how one needed to generate one's own opportunities in battle. It was among the first lessons he'd learned in the crucible of the Second Golden Revolution that swept through his native China, a lifetime ago. It was a lesson he likewise consistently imposed upon his subordinates and people, down to the lowest of the laborers.

Evidentially his opponent had not quite learnt this, as she'd managed to retrieve her weapon, but simply turned and waited for him to complete his approach. She even took the 'Low Guard' stance, as if daring him to renew his attack. The Chairman saw no reason _not_ to oblige her, but honestly had become a tad bored with this contest. His opponent was evidentially missing the point of this exercise, and needed to be taught her lesson as clearly as possible.

He didn't stop his approach, breezing past her and using the momentum to clip behind her left knee, causing her to fold backwards at an awkward angle. The Chairman then spun himself about, the tapered end of his staff pressed ever so lightly to the girl's throat. She was trapped between the staff and the floor, her legs folded awkwardly under her and back curved. There was no way for her squirm free before he crushed her windpipe.

The expected concession, however, was not forthcoming. "You have not won this." Instead of surprise or dismay at this seeming turnabout, her voice was utterly flat.

"No?" The Chairman met her eyes, willing her resistance to break.

He might as well have to disturb a serene pool of water by glare alone. His opponent, whose name was Meing, met it with such serene calm it would have shaken a lesser man. "You have sacrificed sure footing to strike a single blow."

As she spoke, his eyes held by hers, Chairman Yang felt the cold edge of the bisento's blade – now uncovered – scratch the inside of his right ankle. Despite their eyes fixed upon each other's, he had no doubt the blade now rested on his Achilles tendon. He equally did not doubt that she would slice the tendon in the next heartbeat if he did not immediately yield. Even if he struck her throat as threatened, her own attack would still slice his flesh, possibly even deeper than she herself planned as it would be on reflex than conscious decision.

Sheng-ji Yang – once known as the Dragon of Shadows, Yang the Red, and now Chairman of the Human Hive – withdrew his staff from Meing's throat, holding it with palms presented open and fingers spread wide. "I yield the match."

Meing said nothing, unfolding herself from the floor, her blade not shifting even a hair as she did. The moment it did shift, the Chairman shifted his footing and pivoted sharply, his _bo_ swinging at an equally sharp arc that deflected Meing's blade and sending her spinning. To her credit, Meing fought to keep her own footing steady, but failed there and was soon laid flat on her stomach. The Chairman placed a foot on her lower back and the tip of his staff on the C3 and C4 vertebrae her upper spine.

He went on to state "The enlightened do not accept terms from others, but _always_ dictate them."

Meing said nothing further, but neither did she surrender her weapon. The Chairman was quietly pleased with this response. The lesson had been imparted and accepted by the student, who even now refused to acquiesce. He debated on how much time to allow her to find a way out of this reversal before pushing down on her neck and...

A sharp chimp bounced off the walls, Meing's muscles tightening a fraction at the racket while the Chairman remained as controlled as ever. _"Chairman?" _a disembodied voice called.

"Speak," Yang called out, remaining where he was and not allowing Meing to move yet.

"_A message has arrived, marked "Partnership". It has the codes 'Pact', 'Sect', and 'Endeavor' set to it."_

The only sign of his surprise to this news was the speed with which he removed his foot and stepped away. Meing kept her puzzlement carefully concealed, standing with great care and keeping herself ready to defend herself.

The Chairman however was moving to the comm-unit set into the wall, a great many feet away. "This session is complete, Meing," he stated without turning. "The remainder of your time is your own."

It was a rare, almost unheard of gift that caused Meing to blink in surprise. She quickly recovered and moved to exit the room, mind awhirl with the many disparate bits of data this strange exchange between the Chairman and comm presented. A multitude of possibilities came to mind, each evaluated and set aside for later consideration; she would do this in the privacy of her mind, covered by some other meaningless activity so the Eyes surrounding them all would not easily divine this dangerous ponderings.

The Chairman naturally waited until she had exited the room before re-activating the comm and saying "Read the message."

"_Message reads: 'Threshold still within reach. Original plan still viable. Make ready.'"_

"That is all?"

"_Word for word, Chairman. Orders?"_

"Remove yourself from your station and prepare for reassignment."

"_Understood."_ The channel closed and, for the first time since he lost nearly half his people to the Prometheus pandemic four decades earlier, Sheng-ji Yang allowed himself a small smile. Were he any other man, he might have even laughed aloud in utter delight of the future's sudden and incredible promise.

---

**The Flowers Preach**

**Planet Biotech - Biology Lab**

**Inward Bound Project Headquarters, Conference Room A**

**Day 56**

Dr. Ridah Bseiso, Project Inward Bound's supervisor, glanced down the conference table at those present – physically and otherwise. Dr. Zheng – head of the Project's genetic identification and mapping divisions – seemed to be having problems with his avatar. It was flickering in and out, probably due to some interference caused by an early morning storm. Luckily, the sound feed didn't seem to be affected.

The routine Project Inbound status reports held few surprises of late – the overarching goal of the project was to identify markers that would classify the genetic mechanisms behind the apparently random appearance of the psionic, physical, and cognitive powers of Empaths, Thinkers and especially Transcends. This sort of research took a massive amount of time and resources, and even modest advances did not come every day or even every _year_. Bseiso privately blamed the Peacekeepers for that; the project was hindered by the lack of comprehensive background data on the 'normal' human genome. If those sanctimonious bastards would deign to share their information, they would be much farther along in their research.

To be fair, it was hard not to sympathize a little with their caution. Nobody in their right mind believed the pestilence that all but wiped out Haven Village came from anything other than a tailored virus. Previn Lal might be a hopeless idealist, but even he wasn't blinkered as to go giving potential enemies still more ammunition. Still, having to practically re-invent the wheel irritated the biochemist no end.

Bseiso knew the reason everyone was so interested and shifting impatiently in there seats that day: Lady Skye had granted limited access to the sensor data and selected video feed clips of the locust incident and Hive attack. The alien woman had already been causing a stir among project directors, but the new information and the genetic data they'd already gotten on her was enough to send everyone who had the clearance to know about Kara Thrace straight into Nirvana. Many suspected, him included, that the strange woman and her infant might hold the key to actually advancing this project beyond even Pravin Lal's level of understanding. Hell, the pregnancy itself was amazing; none of the female Transcends on record were old enough to bear children yet. The woman was literally a gold mine of new information and data.

The only hitch in all of this new information was that Lady Skye and Captain Svensgaard had refused to give anyone but he and his top-level colleagues access to any information regarding the woman. As a result, they were operating without the majority of their research staff. It was like being a doctoral student again, only infinitely complicated as you were working on your dissertation while trying to con your fellow doctoral candidates into helping you run your data. Add to that how everyone that had the appropriate clearance for the work was spread out all over the Gaian alliance and had their own research and labs to tend to, it made for slow going.

Dr. Agoya Zheng spoke with a light Old Mandarin accent drew him back to the matter at hand, "As you know, much of the area surrounding Razorbeak Wood is monitored by highly sensitive biometric scanners. For the most part these sensors are used for native life detection. Standard procedure, naturally. Any enemy movement – native or human – should have been picked up with this system. Here, it failed to detect the swarm's approach and arrival until _after _it moved to engage the enemy ship."

Dr. Pieter Hawatt, the project's lead neurologist, asked "Even after it broke cover from the forest?"

"Even then." She paused to activate a three dimensional rendering of what appeared to be brainwave patterns, "In fact, the instant we were able to find the swarm on sensors was most likely when it 'decided' to surround the Captain." Zheng tapped another button. "What's especially fascinating here was our biometric readings on Thrace herself during the whole thing. Naturally we've had the whole system passively monitoring her since she arrived at Razorbeak, so I was able to separate out and isolate Thrace's neurological pattern before, during, and after the attack."

"Were there significant differences between the three?" asked the man in charge of all psionic testing and research, Dr. Marcus Jorge.

Zheng shook her head, "Not significant in the sense of a complete restructuring, like we've seen with Empaths who have been 'swamped' by the planetmind. It doesn't actually amount to anything more than an elevation in her Gamma Waves, first noted when she entered what we can only guess is a trance while 'communing' with the worms. The interesting thing is that her brain waves didn't return to their previously-recorded rhythm, even after she seemed to come back to herself."

Bseiso tilted his head, "Have they yet returned to their original pattern?"

Zheng shook her head, "As of this morning, no."

"Twenty-four days since the incident? What does that indicate exactly?" Hawatt queried.

"We've no idea." Zheng could only shrug and note "Again, it's not a radical change, but there's a constant 'peak' to her rhythms now, reading between 45 to 60 Hertz. And it's _regular_, spiking ever 10 seconds on the dot."

Bseiso nodded, perplexed by Zheng's news and glanced to Dr. Hadley's holographic image, "How is the pregnancy progressing?"

"Very well, actually. From the rate of growth I would feel comfortable saying that her pregnancy will be similar to other human pregnancies in gestation. However, I would like to bring your attention to my last report, where I noted that brain and lung development is advanced past norms for gestational age, beyond outliers."

"All outliers?" Questioned one of the other project leaders.

Bseiso watched Dr. Hadley nod and continue, "A genetic workup on the infant is available for anyone who thinks it might advance their research. The infant has all the genetic markers that indicate he, like his mother, will have transcend tendencies. Along those lines, Captain Thrace has reported strange dreams, lucid ones to be precise about experiences from her past, but _without_ experiential context for them."

"Do you think the fetus is projecting?"

She nodded, "Yes. The Empath Guild representative that has been working with Captain Thrace believes that the fetus is mentally reaching out to its mother."

This piece of information actually stunned the group of scientists. Bseiso felt a frown darken his face, "That level of development is far beyond anything we have yet encountered with…well, anyone. How old was Layla before she manifested any sort of projection ability?"

Dr. Naha glanced down at his data tablet, "Six years, four months, three days of age. And she is the youngest to have done so before now." He turned to address Hadley. "Would it be possible to more closely monitor the fetuses' brain development?"

Hadley shook her head decisively. "We don't dare risk it. It is still too early to subject a developing brain to such intense scanning. The best I can do is monitoring everything passively, and make sure Kara records any strange activity related to her pregnancy."

Naha slumped slight and sighed in disappointment, "Very well."

---

**Free Drone Central**

**Foreman's Office**

**Day 60**

Domai stared at the blank screen far too surprised to be angry, though he was sure anger would hit sometime soon. This was the third time in the last two weeks Skye had refused to speak with him personally. He was tempted to remind the woman that he too was a very busy man and had people of his own to feed and protect, never mind that she had come to him for help with the odd ship, not the other way around.

It was a tad insulting and faintly ridiculous, as Lindley had given the impression that Skye had wanted the ship in production as soon as humanly possible. So why in the ding-dong hell was Skye avoiding him now? Despite what his fellow faction leaders thought, he was NOT someone that was just fine with being pushed aside and forgotten. The strategy may work well for Miriam and Cha Dawn, but he wasn't so retiring.

His fist clenched involuntarily, anger finally seeping in to take over the shock. Domai shook his head and forced himself to breath steadily, counting in his head until his temper cooled. He needed to think about this, work out the many clues dropped that far into a hopefully coherent picture. Contrary to appearances, he was no brainless ogre too many characterized him as; it was a useful misjudgment sometimes, if grating on his nerves.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes thoughtfully. Skye was not one to ignore her allies; they were few and far between and she knew that. Lindley was sent to him, likely as not in an attempt to use his attraction to the young Empath to the Lady's advantage. He couldn't help a snort at that deduction; as if a nice pair of tits and a great pair of legs would make him lose his damned mind.

No, he immediately reconsidered. No, Deirdre Skye wasn't _that _blatant. More than likely she'd hoped Lindley would leave him receptive to the original request, which just left things more confusing than before because it was clear the design's she'd carried were nothing short of radical. The ship was _important_, otherwise Lindley would have just told him who designed it, rather than bump it up to the Lady herself.

If that were the case, it was reasonable to assume it had something to do with his sudden lack of standing with the Lady. Something was happening in Gaian territory that she didn't want the rest of Planet to become aware of _yet_. Something to do with the war, perhaps? The planetary 'links were fairly burning with news of the Gaians seizing Fort Superiority from Santiago, and the more recent destruction of the Hive army near Gaia's High Garden. And his people inside Alpha Prime had reported that Aki-Zeta Prime herself had been summoned to Gaia's Landing.

He would be willing to lay odds that whatever was going on had something to do with the strange aircraft that was currently being prototyped in his avionics lab a few levels down. Originally he was sure that there would be no way to make the bulky design take flight, but all modeling done since then had confirmed whoever designed the ship knew what they were doing. The weight distribution on the airframe was so perfect that, provided the engines provided adequate thrust, getting airborne wouldn't be a problem. Of course everything looked good on paper; the question became whether the real article would live up to expectations.

Armaments were a slightly different issue, the fuselage affording no internal compartments for weaponry. However it looked like it had been designed to have heavy armaments or ordinance mounted on it, meaning its original architects were looking at making this boxy beast as versatile as possible. The current figures on thrust-to-weight, using existing fuel sources, indicated 'The Bus' (as the engineers had come to call it) would be able to carry more firepower than any aircraft design in the same weight class currently on record. It practically surpassed anything that had ever been designed on Planet or Earth.

The random thought made him pause and frown. Domai closed his eyes a moment and reviewed the ship in his mind. While it was clearly designed for human – or at least humanoid – use, he'd stake his holiday hours that its design and manufacture had never been so much as dreamed on old Earth, never mind here on Chiron.

The implication brought on by his stray thought were…staggering. Not to mention potentially disastrous for Skye and the rest of the humanity on Planet if she didn't handle it correctly. Domai knew perfectly well the original needlejet designs had come out of a Progenitor library node; if this new aircraft were likewise from the same source…he could only imagine what Morgan or Yang would do to get their hands on these designs.

The Foreman turned to gaze out across the central hub at Free Drone Central. The colorful mosaic that decorated the floors gently reflected the waning light of the afternoon. As always, it soothed his fiery nerves; his anger had surged, and now receded. His next course of action was clear as the sky above.

Turning to his desk's communication hub, Domai tapped the voice line to his assistant. "Max, conference."

The young man steped in quietly, "Foreman?"

"Go down to Avionics Alpha. Inform all section heads the project is now classified at the highest levels. Need-To-Know basis only. I'll personally administer sanctions on anyone found leaking so much as a whisper about it is heard outside or on the Datalinks."

Maxwell nodded, "I will deliver the message." As he left to run this most important errand, Domai returned to his musing, mentally composing a second message that he'd be transmitting that same day, this one addressed to a certain party presently hiding herself in the jungle to the southwest.

---

**Razorbeak Wood Medical Tower**

**Togakon Ise Research Hospital**

**Prenatal High Risk Care Ward**

**Exam Room 2A**

The high-risk care ward was similar to the prenatal care ward, just more heavily 'wired' and with a noticeably larger nursing staff and more medical equipment in immediate evidence. The computers were also isolated and therefore, highly secure. No data was shared between this ward and the base's mainframe unless it was physically transferred.

Adrienne Hadley ushered Kara and Irene into the exam room, still annoyed with the planned observation that had been forced on her. It was hardly in the spirit of openness and cooperation that Lady Skye was so fond of extolling. The one-way mirrors were placed innocuously to simulate decorative mirrors placed along the otherwise blank wall. The room itself was painted a soft blue, with a window that overlooked the base's main garden complex. Overall, a pleasant place for a routine examination.

She glanced over to the bank of 'mirrors' noting that she looked like she was in dire need of a good night's sleep. Irene moved to the opposite side of the bed and sat on the stool provided there, while Kara took her place on the reclined chair next to the scanner. Adrienne couldn't help but notice a slight stiffness between the two women, just as the entire base couldn't have helped 'noticing' the nigh-unto-volcanic argument the pair had treated them to a couple weeks back.

Adrienne was among the few who knew the details about their 'joy ride' (Kara's words) near the High Garden, having been tasked to examine the pilot both immediately before their departure and the second she'd landed. As such, she'd been treated to a front-row seat of Irene Fedotov's tempestuous temper crashing against the inflexible will of Kara Thrace, apparently over something as markedly silly as where Irene had been sitting during the flight. The argument however took on a life all its own in the days that followed, a dozen more inconsequential grievances were drudged up between the two, resulting in a nearly endless shouting match that seemed to constantly echo off the walls.

Both sides were equally fierce in shouting down the smallest suggestion of alternative housing for them. Raw as they worked each other's nerves, neither appeared willing to separate over it. Rumors were even surfacing the two were lovers now; Adrienne was equally blessed to know certain things about where Irene's true affections lay, and so didn't worry on that score. Most everyone else simply ignored the rumors entirely and did their best to keep out of the combatant's line of fire.

While clearly things hadn't completely cooled between them that morning, when Kara reached out, Irene took her hand without hesitation, and held it was such gentleness as to be heartbreaking.

Adrienne made an effort to be at least pleasant during this appointment; the pair had already been cooped up in Prenatal for nigh unto three weeks – the 'joy ride' and carefully scheduled visits to the fligh sims notwithstanding – and so didn't need to deal with her bad mood. She went through the motions of examining Kara internally quickly, trying her best to minimize any discomfort it caused the patient. That done, Adrienne efficiently tossed her gloves, washed her hands, and started asking the normal questions while performing the external exam.

"Did the meds I gave you help with the swelling?"

Kara nodded. "Yup. Got anything to cure for boredom."

Adrienne smiled. "Yes. They're called 'hobbies'. Unfortunately we haven't figured out how to put in pill form yet." Irene and Kara both snickered aloud as she stepped back. "Lean back and relax."

She touched the control panel to activate the scanner. The arms of Kara's chair extended until them met over her stomach. As information cascaded across Adrienne's screen a sharp pain caused her to close her eyes and turn away. She stumbled away and vomited in the sink. She heard the shuffle of the two women behind her. Irene's cool hands drew her hair away from her face and Kara touched her back lightly. The pain receded as if it had never been and she glanced up at the two women. "Se…sorry…not sure what that was."

She straightened to see Kara staring at her, a confused frown on her face. The blonde's gaze slid toward the mirrors with what Adrienne would swear was suspicion. "Do you need to…postpone this?"

Adrienne shook her head, surprisingly free of pain for the first time that day. "No, no. Feeling better already. Go on, lay back down. I need to grab a drink and wash out my mouth, then I'll be right back."

---

"_Visual signal lost...again."_

"_She closed her eyes. It happens. Data recorded?"_

"_Confirmed. Shall we disengage?"_

"_Status of the asset?"_

"_Reading mild physiological strain, but the asset appears viable."_

"_Reduce direct feed. See if that minimizes the strain on it."_

"_Confirmed, sir."_

_---_

Adrienne stepped out of the exam room and moved quickly to grab a drink on her way to the observation room. She pushed the door open enough to stick her head in, "She knows you're here and I got the feeling she wants you to leave." Adrienne did not give either woman a chance to reply but closed the door and headed back into the exam room.

Aki-Zeta raised a single eyebrow at the women in the exam room, unfazed by the insubordinate order. "Thrace did something to ease her pain."

Deidre agreed but remained silent, deciding to direct Adrienne to the neurology as soon as this appointment was over. She had never seen a migraine flare up and recede like that before. Likewise, she made no move to leave or escort Aki-Zeta out; the Prime Function's cooperation was needed right now, and Adrienne's supposition aside, Deirdre suspected Kara's reaction was only tangentially related to their presence. They'd leave only if it was clearer their presence was proving detrimental.

This time, the examination proceeded as normal. Kara grinned at the pictures Adrienne printed out for her, sniffed a bit at the sound of the heartbeat and bounced out of the chair when Adrienne cleared her. Irene and Kara left the room while Adrienne finished her notes and carefully stored and protected the information contained in the scan. Once finished, she too left.

Deidre turned to Aki-Zeta with a questioning look. Aki-Zeta appeared thoughtful when she answered, "I believe your original conclusions are correct and this woman is indeed a Transcend. I detected clear elevations in her neural frequencies throughout observation, and her heart-rate immediately reset itself to mirror that of the fetus." Deirdre was so surprised by these revelations she almost missed the cyborg's request of "I would like access to all information gathered on her to date."

"That is something that we will have to discuss. Thrace is, unsurprisingly, one of our most secret assets at this time. This is for her protection." Dierdre's tone took a firm-but-soft edge as she said this, which by rights should have ended the matter there.

The tone was utterly lost on Aki-Zeta however. "Then we shall discuss it. Now."

---

Back in their temporary quarters in the hospital, Kara paced around restlessly and Irene stared out the window quietly. Something weird had happened at her appointment and she was really getting sick of that feeling. She hadn't felt right since the day Irene had gone storming out of the room, muttering about "philandering bastards" and "their shit-eating grins."

It was probably something she should have told Hadley but…for some reason, she hesitated. Kara shook her head, suddenly dizzy. "Irene? I'm gonna lie down, okay?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?" was shot back at her. Kara's answering frown prompted an immediate "I'm sorry. I'm…" Irene could only shake her head and turn back to her tablet, tapping the screen with obvious force. Kara decided not to press her roommate for answers and instead follow through on her own pronouncement, and went to her bed.

Her belly was only just rounding noticeably, enough to where lying on her back was painful and on her stomach was out of the question. She'd had to settle for rolling onto her side and curling into a loose ball, which truth be told was actually pretty comfortable. Not to mention how it brought certain _memories _to mind, her out-of-whack hormones making all of them so damned _vivid_…it took just the smallest brush of her now-stone-hard nipples against the fabric of her shirt to send her tumbling into orgasm…as surely as Lee had when he'd _slid _into her from behind…right before she'd jumped into space and landed here…

Kara would subsequently blame those same out-of-whack hormones as the _only_ reason she was soon unconscious. She would never, _ever_ so much as _hint_ just the _memory_ of Lee's hands on her was enough to make her cum so damned _hard_ that her ears popped, her eyes rolled a full 90-degrees due north, and made her pass out stone cold.

---

_Hullo, Karamind. And hullo, newmind. We welcome you again._

_Uh, hi, um, Voice._

_You are happy now, yes?_

_Um, I think so._

_May we sing to you now?_

_Yeah. Yeah, I like your song._

_We like your song, too, Karamind. Will you sing with us?_

_Um, how?_

_We will show you._

---

Irene stood at the doorway to Kara's bedroom, listening carefully to the light humming issuing from within. She felt a vague tremor run down her spine, the tune underlying the humming somehow familiar to her admittedly-tone-deaf ears. There was something else there besides, but it was an elusive sense or sensation, one that Irene instinctively shied from concentrating upon.

Carefully nudging the door open and peeking around it, she saw Kara laid out on her side, facing the opposite wall. After a moment's contemplation, Irene tapped a couple commands into her LinkTablet and set it on the dresser by the door. She then withdrew, hoping the Tablet's on-board audio sensors were sharp enough to capture Kara's singing. Hopefully then she'd be able to run a comparison with the Datalinks and chase down exactly where she'd heard it all before.

The fact it might well incite yet another shouting match between them…well, what was one more? They'd survived so far, even if neither of them could really articulate just why they were locking horns so often about the stupidest things. Irene just found it harder and harder to keep calm around the blonde, even when they were doing nothing more than reading and talking about history. It was like something about Kara's presence was subconsciously scaring the crap out of her all the time, causing her to strike out on reflex.

The weirdest bit was how it never occurred to Irene to talk to Lady Skye or even Adrienne about it. This lack of disclosure didn't really bother her either, which in itself was just plain weird as Irene had built her reputation on demanding, and invariably getting, absolute transparency in all things. And yet now she was the one deliberately withholding data?

She looked back to the bedroom door, recalling Kara's hushed question the night Lady Skye had proposed the Raptor mission. Could it be Kara wasn't the _only_ one changing here?

And shouldn't that prospect have been just a tad more _unsettling_ that it was?

---

In the bedroom where Kara Thrace slumbered, a solitary Locust fluttering to and fro near her head, moving in time to music no human ear could hope to hear.

---

**Prenatal High Risk Care Ward**

**Exam Room 3D**

**Day 63**

Aki-Zeta, Skye, and Hadley watched the vid-feed closely. Having failed to convince Skye to give her full access to the Transcend woman, Aki-Zeta had been invited to observe her in a more 'natural' setting. Hadley had insisted it be further away this time, hence their being in a monitoring station one floor down from the woman's hospital suite. She did not and would not quibble. Even second-hand observation was better than nothing.

She focused on the blonde woman - this "Captain Kara Thrace" - with singular focus, her many sensory enhancements catching and recording more than Skye or Hadley likely suspected she was capable of. Skye might have thought she held the monopoly on this information, but there were things the Consciousness could divine a biological like Skye would never sense. In fact, she anticipated Thrace was about to suffer some manner of medical episode, given the subtle but abrupt spike in her heart-rate, respiration, and core temperature; she knew all this via a passive 'link to the base's sensory network. A direct infiltration was neither practical nor possible given the Hunter-Seeker being in play, but that was alright. She was getting all the data she needed right then.

Her musings were interrupted as Thrace seemed to collapse onto the floor. Hadley dashed away quickly and soon appeared on the video feed to check on her patient. The other woman, Irene Fedotov, had been present in the room and caught Thrace before her head hit the ground. Hadley checked Thrace's vitals and frowned.

Thrace seemed to come back to herself instantly and spoke urgently to Fedotov in what Aki-Zeta guessed was her native tongue. A quick review of her on-board linguistic archive tentatively identified it as a mixture of Bulgarian and Grecco-Macedonian dialects. She glanced at Skye coolly. "What happened?"

Lady Skye was frowning herself, clearly no more pleased than the Prime Function herself. "I am not sure, but we will get a report from Hadley as soon as she comes back."

Aki-Zeta nodded and returned her attention to Thrace. She hoped Thrace would continue to converse in her native language as it would be beneficial to have such information to pass on. She was interrupted, once again, by Hadley marching back into the room. "That's enough," she declared bluntly, killing the vid-feed and giving them a harsh glare. "She's has been feeling off all week, and it got worse once you both started 'observing' her. Get out of my ward." The doctor stomped out before either woman could respond.

Aki-Zeta raised an eyebrow to Lady Skye, expecting her to ignore her subordinate's dictate. For her part, Lady Skye merely sighed and motioned to the still-open door. "Let's go," she said with a distinctly firm tone.

The cyborg felt a flare of confusion and a tremor of disgust at this capitulation. "You are no longer the Prime Function here?" she asked, which was as close to an outright insult as she could manage.

Lady Skye understood this, and simply ignored the context. "Doctor Hadley is the prime unit in this case. I defer to her directives."

"Without question?"

"Would you question the directive of a prime unit?"

"I have _no_ prime unit." The cyborg paused, then added "I take your point." Another pause. "As even indirect observation is now forbidden, I will need full access to the Transcend's recorded data. Otherwise my assistance with this project will be…re-evaluated." Her voice was perfectly neutral, bordering on monotone. The words alone conveyed the threat, and was all the more convincing for it.

Skye quirked an eyebrow at her, unmoved. "I will take your arguments under advisement."

---

**University Base**

**25 miles southwest of Planetnek landbridge**

**Pangea continent**

**Day 75**

Anyone visiting the private rooms of Prokhov Zarakov would have immediately thought they were in the wrong room, if only because of its comparative emptiness.

The Academician's reputation was built upon several, sometimes-contradictory-yet-complimentary facets: an absolute devotion to scientific inquiry, an equally absolute intolerance for any statement or assertion even remotely mystical or otherwise not rigorously empirical, volumous writing, a barely disguised contempt of literature (poetry especially), devotion to experimentation, the drive to work and lead a group of the like-minded, with a complete disinterest in physical comforts or social interactions. The most notable feature to him, however, was the tendency to just plain tinker with stuff; it didn't matter if it was a fusion bottle or incomplete speeder or running DNA sequences on a computer. If the object in question was made up of more than two constituent parts, Prokhov Zarakov would find some way to rearrange them.

How odd, then, that his private rooms were bare of any kind of ornament or 'toy' that might otherwise keep his hands busy as his mind ever was. Or perhaps not so odd, for it was in those quiet, shadow-shrouded walls that the Academician was known to do some of very best thinking. The lack of external distractions – the walls were as solid and soundproof as any that might be manufactured – allowed his already-racing thoughts to quicken their pace, finding connections between disparate elements and widening this vista of his imagination to glimpse beyond the horizon. How often had he addressed the faculty and bade them become 'sythesists', to step back and place a thousand unconnected details into a clear and comprehensible context?

In here, he could practice what he preached, and did so with great success. The Virtual World had been conceived in these rooms, as had the foundations of the Planetary Datalinks, the Cyborg Factory, and even Longevity Vaccination. Of those last three Grand Ideas (as Zarakov thought of them), his people had failed to complete the first two and were steadily loosing ground on the last to that idealist Lal and the capitalist Morgan.

Surprisingly, the Academician didn't feel especially bad about any of that, having long ago concluded that his University was simply too poorly placed in the world to rise to the greatness that was its due. He was down to just three campuses, half of what he'd controlled prior to Prometheus chewing up nearly a full third of the planetary population in just under a year, all three of them residing on this narrow peninsula and having to depend as much upon their Gaian overlords to the north for supplies as what they could eek out from the land itself.

No, the best the University could hope for was nudging scientific progress ahead, while doing their level best to avoid actual conflict with Godwinson's fanatics or anyone else. He had little faith in Skye's military prowess, never mind her troop's abilities in the field; the 'war' between his people and her's had been a joke, nothing but a clever gamebit on his part to get that plant-loving looney to provide him some measure of protection. She'd actually been the least worst choice of the three immediately available to him, given Godwinson too enthralled with her religion and Santiago too trigger-happy to have trusted. Skye at least recognized the value of serious scientific inquiry, even if she had assigned the invasive busybody Fedotov to ride herd on him and ensure the "ethical guidelines" placed on his work were being followed.

Still, things were finally looking up for him and his. Zarakov allowed himself a small smile there. Fedotov had been abruptly recalled to Gaia's Landing on Skye's own orders, so that was one worry out of the way. The other worry that occupied so much of his thoughts these days…

A low chime sounded and the room's doors slid open. Master Technician Carson Leer quickly entered and, without waiting for an invitation, spread a large schematic over the Academician's desk. Zarakov leaned over and peered at the hand-drawn lines and notations, eyes drawn specifically to where Leer pointed. "The nutrient leak? I'm aware of that," he started to say, only to have Leer breathlessly interrupt.

"But we've cracked it, sir."

Zarakov's eyes snapped up to look at the technician, then back down at the schematic. Specifically, he stared and frowned at the small matrix near Leer's still-pointing finger. "You want to reuse…no. No." The Academician sat back and tented his finger before him, letting his eyes wander and stare off into the middle distance. "You want to recycle the amniotic fluid in the growth vats." It wasn't a question, but Leer nodded anyway.

"Precisely, sir."

"How much re-engineering will this require?"

"That's the problem. The growth vats current architecture doesn't allow for it." He sighed and ran shaking fingers through his dirty blonde hair. "We can perhaps attach something to the drainage ducts, or at least route the drainage into a reclamation tank. But…"

"No, that's precisely it." Zarakov didn't move a muscle as he spoke, but his eyes took on a particular brightness. When Leer didn't respond, the older man added "A reclamation tank is perfect!"

"But that's just reclamation, sir. We still need a method to purify the used fluid."

"Precisely. More accurately, we need to recycle it."

Leer's frown deepened, understanding coming quickly, and with it a host of new complications. "You want us to link this into the recycling tanks on level Beta-Four? That would require even more re-engineering than simply starting from scratch…"

Zarakov's lips quirked a bit. "Who said anything about simply linking the tanks to the growth vats?" His smirk became an actual smile as he saw Leer's eyes widen appreciably.

"If you're suggesting what I suspect, sir…you realize it will mean effectively cannibalizing the recycling facility. Yes?"

"Oh, yes. I do realize that." He sighed and added "That alone makes it an excellent idea in my opinion." The equipment in question, an almost piece-by-piece copy of the original waste recycling tanks that had been used aboard the U.N.S. Unity, had been among the first facilities Lady Skye had insisted be built within the University's three campuses/bases. Granted to that point life within those bases had been taking a bad turn, the Drones proving harder and harder to keep in line even with ever-more coercive techniques. That had turned around quickly once construction was finished and everyone had clean drinking water again.

Still, the fact Deirdre Skye saw fit to order the tanks construction without a thought as to the research and experimentation that was being disrupted and derailed in the process…well, it hadn't endeared her any with the Academician or many of the faculty. Speaking of whom…

"This is no small task, sir. What if Fedotov learns of this?"

"Doctor Fedotov has been recalled to Gaian territory. I rather doubt even she will be a consideration for the time being." The Academician met the technicians eyes directly now. "Estimate on time it will take?"

"Um, ten days to dismantle them and get what is needed, plus another ten to adapt the vats' drainage and adapt the reclamation elements."

"Twenty days…" Zarakov glanced down at the schematics again. "You haven't scanned these into the datalinks, have you?"

Leer stiffened and drew himself up, his lips pressed into a solid, flat line. "Of course not, sir." Infiltration and tech-theft happened with depressing regularity within his campuses; Zarakov suspected that was how Morgan had managed such a jump-start on Longevity. Luckily the mogul was too preoccupied with his infrastructure and engineering projects to given much energy to the hard sciences, and by accounts he wasn't anywhere near completing work on his retroviral catalogue. If and when he did manage it, Morgan would be just a hop-and-skip away from discovering viable biomech engineering and might well…

Zarakov gave himself a small shake. No sense in worrying about what that unimaginative fool might or might not accomplish. Certainly his "Central Merchant Exchange Bank" was no great breakthrough and contributed little to the world. Focusing on the technician once more, he directed "Begin working on dismantling and retasking the tanks. Use only engineers you trust completely to assist."

"If anyone asks?"

"Simply say we are relocating the equipment for improved efficiency." The Academician smirked again. "It's close enough to the truth, don't you think?"

"Yes, sir." Leer moved to gather the schematics up, only to be waved off.

"Leave them. I want to study them a bit more."

Leer nodded and left the room without another word. Zarakov rested his elbows on the desk and tented his fingers, thoughts once again bouncing freely.

Five more years. That's all he needed. Five more years and, now that they had the nutrient issue out of the way, the cloning vats would begin production. Then he could simply grow all the test subjects he'd ever need for experimentation and clinical trials, neatly side-stepping sweet, naïve Deirdre's guidelines against "causing undue pain and suffering upon his people". He and his people - the real ones, as opposed the lumps of flesh he'd grow - could actually start getting some real work done.

Prokhov Zarakov felt positively giddy at the prospects this happy thought presented. With a happy sigh, he closed his eyes, and let his thoughts race as far into the future as they might go.

---

**Cylon Basestar **_**Scourge**_

**Day 982 of Pursuit**

**Eight Mid-Power Jumps from Human Fleet**

Ellen Tigh calmly sat and looked at the odd-shaped object that rested on the low table before her. She couldn't help but frown a little at the curious design to it, then raised an inquiring eye-brow towards her 'son', who hovered and scowled and shook with barely-concealed anger opposite her.

"Well?" Cavil demanded with a sneer.

"Well, John," Ellen drawled coolly. She picked up the scorched and pitted orb of shaped metal and turned it over in her hands. "A bit of polish, some fresh chrome, and you'd have a nice centerpiece for the table." Turning it over again, she added "Turn it upside-down and you've got a lovely flowerpot. Other than that…"

Cavil slammed both palms onto the table's clear surface, causing Ellen to flinch but otherwise remain silent. "I want to know why!" he half-shouted.

Ellen met her creation's eyes steadily and asked "Why…what?"

"Why did you make _us_," he responded, gesturing to himself, then back towards the object of their shared interest in her hands. "Why make something that is so imperfect when you constructed _that_."

Again, Ellen frowned and studied the object in her hands, seeing for the first time the crude facial features and once-elegant lines etched there. She clicked her tongue and stated "First, you know perfectly well I wasn't the engineer of our group. That was Salvatore…I mean, Saul's job. And second, I've never seen this design before in my life."

Cavil met her eyes, a tempest of anger and rage in his own. Without breaking the gaze he threw a handful of Photostat images onto the table, which Ellen immediately started paging through. "You mean to tell me that _isn't_ your Temple of Aurora pictured there?"

"Well if these were focused properly, I might be able to make an intelligent comment," she replied, pointedly refusing to look up and watch Cavil's herculean struggle to keep down whatever outburst was threatening. "I don't suppose you thought to take some shots from up in orbit?" she asked.

"The last one," Cavil fairly hissed. Ellen paged to the designated image, and almost immediately shook her head.

"Ah, that explains it."

"Explains what?'

"You've been laboring under a serious misconception, John." The 'again' went unvoiced, but was clear as if she'd shouted it. "This isn't our world," she elaborated. "How many other planets are in this system?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"Because if there are more than seven, and if there are less than three gas giants, this definitely isn't our home system."

Cavil stalked forward and snatched the hardcopy from her hand. "Are you telling me you led us to this wasteland…"

"_I_ didn't led you anywhere, John." She sat back and settled her elbows on knees and chin on her steepled fingers. "How could I? You've had me locked away in here since I resurrected."

"The Temple of Five…"

"I've told you before. We found the Temple of Hope while _en route_ to the Colonies. It was already built and…"

"Enough!" Cavil shouted. Ellen however had long since gotten used to her eldest's tantrums, and so simply sat and waited him out. The gray-haired man seethed and glared at her with such heat she was sure the temperature of the room had elevated a few degrees.

At length he said "It might interest you to know, Ellen that your husband and his chosen people were here recently. They apparently had even less use for the planet than you do."

"I'm not surprised, going by the pictures you have. But how are you sure Sal…Saul was here?"

Cavil's grin was a cruel parody of an actual smile. "Because they left behind a little something." He jerked his head to something behind her, causing Ellen to turn and look. She was surprised to see a bedraggled looking woman brought in by another Centurion, recognizing her instantly.

"Hello, D'anna."

"Mother," the ill-looking female nodded, sounding both sullen and exhausted. Turning her gaze towards Cavil she said "Hello to you to, One."

Cavil simply sneered. "Remember I still owe you one for snapping my neck in the Hub."

"That? That was just pay-back for boxing me and the rest."

Ellen would have been content to simply watch this spat between her children, but D'anna's sudden declaration loosened her tongue. "You boxed her?"

"And her entire line," Cavil confirmed, his pseudo-grin still in place. Ellen fixed a look on him that communicated a host of opinions and thoughts, none of them pleasant or worthy; it didn't cause the target it was aimed at so much as a flutter or flinch.

Ellen could only shake her head and help D'anna, who appeared none too steady, to sit herself down. "So what now, John? Surely you aren't considering boxing her again?"

"Oh, I considered it. But then considering the Hub has been blown apart it would have been a pointless effort." The two women glared at him as he strutted towards the room's sole entrance. "I'm sure you two can find something to talk about while the rest of us do some _real_ work." Cavil marched into the shadows beyond the threshold, leaving the pair sitting there under the watchful eye of two centurions.

Ellen shook her head and grasped D'anna by the chin, turning it to the left, then right, eyes searching out any sign of serious injury. "Thank god you built high radiation tolerance into our designs," D'anna muttered, eyes downcast.

"Thank Maurice," Ellen corrected. "It was his idea."

"Who?"

"Oh, um, the young stud...what's his name? Andrew?"

"Anders? Samuel T. Anders?"

"Yes, yes. The one that married that girl pilot Sal...Saul was always riding on." Ellen stepped back and nodded to herself. "You look a little dehydrated, but otherwise okay." D'anna snorted. "Small mercies I suppose, given where we are."

"Yeah."

"What was the planet like?" Ellen inquired after a moment silence. "Pretty bad, I take it."

"It was a ruin. Worse than how we left the Colonies."

"Ouch. So how'd you end up here? Don't tell me John managed to catch up with the fleet and..."

"Ha, he wishes. We...they broke orbit weeks ago. That was after we lingered in orbit for nearly a month. They found me just a planetary day ago."

"Found you? On the surface?" D'anna nodded, which only confused Ellen worse. "Did they abandon you or what?"

"I...decided to stay behind."

Ellen frowned. "In the name of god, why?"

"I...honestly can't say. It just seemed the right thing to do." She offered her creator a weak smile. "Maybe being boxed like I was...changed something?"

"Unlikely," Ellen declared after a moment. "We'll worry about that later. Right now..."

"Yes?"

"Can you tell me...what's happened to Saul?"

"Um, I didn't see much of him after they retrieved me."

"Anything. Please, just...just tell me anything."

D'anna sniffed, and thought hard, going back over her formidable memory for every scrap and glance she'd seen the _Galactica's _XO. It took a bit of time, Ellen waiting patiently the whole while.

And eventually, she began to speak, starting with "Well, he's wearing a very fetching eye-patch these days."

---

**Battlestar Galatica**

**Lifestation**

**Day 54**

Lee Adama stumbled into Life Station a half-hour after leaving the Aux-E Closet, clutching his right arm and muttering cursing directed mainly at himself. The attending nurse conducted her exam smoothly, confirming his forearm was badly bruised and possibly fractured in a couple places. Lee himself didn't seem particularly surprised and dismissed the injury as his own damned fault. "Tripped and caught it in a hatchway," was the whole of his explanation.

The nurse splinted the arm and advised the President of the Colonies he should have it seen to by Doc Cottle in the morning. It didn't look or feel serious, but without X-rays…

Lee waved off the rest of the rest of it, asking if there was a free bed there. It would save him the trouble of marching back there in a few hours time. He was directed to one in the back, ironically close where Anders had lain comatose after his operation. Lee didn't even hesitate in slipping off his shoes, laying down, or in closing his eyes.

But sleep didn't come, not with the same scene continually playing out in his mind's eye.

_The hand that shot out of the tub was applying a crushing grip just above his wrist, wrenching his entire arm to deflect the shot he had just managed to squeeze off. Lee was afforded no time to fight it or even cry in surprise. The lucid, nearly inhuman voice of Samuel T Anders rang out in the small space._

"_Primary, secondary, tertiary factors aligning…re-aligning to pattern…sixth manifold activation sequence…initiated…cubits can be initialized to arbitrary values…nodes nine-four-four holds recumbent genetic strands...reorientation of cerebral chemical processes…model and mend…end string...can't choose destiny…_ _wavelength of the spectral peak…it is no compensation that the music lives on…"_

_Anders shoved Lee away, causing him to tumble back and land gracelessly on his ass, trigger-finger involuntarily tightening at the next words. _

"_Find the perfect end for the perfect world of Kara Thrace."_

_The roar that followed all but swallowed the final words Samuel Anders spoke._

"_End of line."_

---

To be continued…please take some time and let us know what you think!

Safe and happy holidays!


	7. Chapter 7

**Prometheus-D Pandemic**

Ten days into Mission Year 2195, Planet saw its first (and thus far only) truly global pandemic. The pandemic is commonly referred to as The Prometheus Crisis or the 'Crisis'. Although lasting a total of 471 planetary days, the pandemic had far reaching consequences for the whole of Planet and the effects did not limit themselves to significant decrease in the human population; the political, sociological, and economic effects that can still be felt today.

Ironically, UN microbiologist Uri Prometheus Iolus predicted the crisis upon his discoverer of the base viral strain itself. To that point, this neurological scourge had been seen in relatively isolated cases, the original viral organism proving frustratingly elusive. Iolus determined _Chiron Obscurus Tyrannoctonus _as he named the virus – _Prometheus _became the common nomenclature for it after he published his findings in MY 2179 – was actually a collection of neurotropic viruses of nearly-identical morphologies and were, to a one, neuroinvasive and composed of negative-sense single-strand RNA chains which bore many of the same markers as Terran rabies.

Iolus successfully catalogued all known strains, placing them in Order _Mononegavirales_ and Family _Rhabdoviridae_, there being sufficient similarities between their respective make-ups that the individual strains could be related.

While his work was universally hailed, Iolus was careful to note that he had catalogued only _known_ strains of _Prometheus, _and noted how historically destabilizing even modest pandemics of relatively benign pathogens could prove. A planetwide outbreak of _Prometheus_, even if all factions coordinated their responses perfectly, would still result in serious loss of life among the infected and endanger the colonist's fragile society.

Historians and scientists have found it difficult to pin point and verify the precise structure of the killer strain that emerged in 2195. Previous cases, while equally deadly, did not approach the sheer infection rates experienced that year. There is a large minority of pathologists that theorize that it is possible the outbreak was not a natural phenomenon, speculating that the virus was engineered by an as yet unidentified faction to gain a tactical advantage over their fellow faction leaders. There is contention about this theory, the strongest argument against it being the fact that no one faction escaped high infection and death rates.

Another theory proposed is that the environmental impact of nearly a century of literally explosive population growth – the human population having gone from roughly 7,000 to nearly 6.75 million since planetfall – caused a wholly new strain of the virus to appear. Viral geneticists have generally accepted this to be the case, although it has yet to be conclusively proven.

The viral strain was not positively identified until well after a cure was discovered and distributed, which didn't occur until Day 394 of the pandemic. This was remarkably fast given the speed and breadth of the infection, never mind that the viral strain itself proved extremely resistant to both established and experimental anti-viral medication and treatments. Infection rates varied from faction to faction, the highest found among the Human Hive (47%) and the lowest among the Gaians (22%). The immediate morbidity of those infected held steadily at 26% (+/- 3%) among most populations, with an additional 10% (+/- 2%) dying within the following year due to complications.

Accounts and timelines vary widely from base to base and faction to faction. The earliest documented case of the virus, later identified _"Prometheus-D"_, appeared inside the Hive settlement named Sheng-ji Yang Base on Day 10, 2195, with several other Human Hive communities reporting similar outbreaks the following week. It was not until a full third of his total population was stricken, around Day 57, before Chairman Yang reached out to other faction leaders for aid.

Around the same time as Sheng-ji Yang Base reported its first fatalities, the Lord's Believers began showing large numbers of cases among its handful of bases, their outbreaks especially severe due to Sister Godwinson's instinctive distaste for secular science and research, which had stunted their medical facilities. By Day 200, the once-densely populated community of New Eden was left virtually empty.

The remaining five factions all simultaneously began reporting infections shortly after Sister Godwinson reported her own. Unfortunately, the datalinks connecting the enclaves to the planetary network went offline on Day 143. Contact was re-established on Day 303, by which time significant headway had been made by various faction's researchers. The Gaians had discovered an antiviral regime that showed some success at inoculating against Prometheus-D, but it wasn't until the Peacekeepers and University researchers managed to fully decode the virus's RNA strand that a proper vaccine could be developed. Further intensive testing yielded such a vaccine, which the Morganites synthesized and distributed planetwide by Day 468.

By then however it was a case of too little, too late, and by Day 472 the pandemic was judged to have run its course, no new outbreaks being reported anywhere and the vast majority of the infected now dead. The full death toll will likely never be known, official figures putting it at 2.56 million dead, with an addition 700,000 crippled or left vegetative (over 30% of whom would expire within the next planetary year).

**Aftermath – Sociological Upheavals**

Devastating as these figures were, the true impact of the pandemic lay mainly in its political and social ramifications. _Prometheus-D_ generated profound damage to the fragile social structures that held the original seven factions together, causing an already fractured colonization effort to fracture further as five new factions emerged.

Some originated more quickly than others. The Spartan Naval Corps, concentrated off the northwestern tip of the Pangaea continent reported a small outbreak of the virus aboard just two of its ships on Day 103. Generalissima Santiago made a command decision to abandon five bases, losing a full 90% of her naval power. Captain Ulrik Svensgaard took control of the former Spartan bases and took measures to isolate infected individuals. The strategy worked, in relative terms at least, and the Pirates sustained losses equaling a 'mere' 29% of their number. When contact was re-established with the sea-borne enclaves in late 2196, Captain Svensgaard immediately (and quite publically) declared them independent of the mainland and renamed his people the 'Nautilus Pirates'. The Spartans had little choice but to accept this, given their derth of naval assets and the already-stretched nature of their human resources.

Similarly, the Morganite faction had been operating a small cluster of research bases on the southern shore of Landing Bay in Elysium since 2190. Those bases were unique in that their internal datalinks were configured to maximize their processing power, making them operate as essentially a single 'super-node'. To a one, those bases went dark between Days 30 and 32, and because of his faction's historically small population, Morgan and his executive board were too busy managing the immediate crisis to notice this or concern themselves with the small staff who worked at those bases.

It was nearly a full two years after the pandemic had run its course before the bases came back 'on-line'; Morgan and company had written them off completely in the interim and lacked the manpower necessary to re-staff them. When this research cluster re-emerged, it did so under the control of the self-styled 'Data Angels', led by a former mid-level Manager named Asa Wright (better known to law enforcement back on Earth as the hacker Synder Roze). The Angels by that point had successfully infiltrated the internal networks of all other factions, even managing to slip into the Gaians 'links through as-yet-unexplained methods. Because of this extensive infiltration, no faction or coalition thereof dared move against these Angels, particularly after the latter served a couple 'object lessons' aimed at potential aggressors.

During the same time period as the Angels' consolidated their position and established their independence, a pair of Hive settlements situated near the Borehole Cluster in northern Pangea saw unprecedented rioting and a complete breakdown in the normally tight security with which Chairman Yang controlled his people. This was unsurprising given those bases in particular – ironically named "Seat of Proper Thought" and "Hole of Aspiration" – had been especially hard hit during the pandemic. While the Chairman had not completely abandoned the bases nor refused aid to them, his priorities understandably had focused on the larger, more established of his communities.

The riots within these bases was notable in that they were more focused and organized than ones in the past, with a semi-established leadership directing them. The already-weakened garrisons in both bases were eventually overwhelmed, and the 'Drones' (the slang term having particular irony in this case, given the rioters were anything but unskilled or unmanageable thugs) declared their independence from The Hive. Uniting under the leadership of the self-titled 'Foreman Domai' – originally geologist and mining engineer Arthur Donaldson; that identity and sizable portion of his original personality had been lost when his cryo-capsule malfunctioned – the newly-liberated inhabitants now called themselves the Free Drones, and subsequently seized a third base from The Hive's control. The Free Drones have since become a major economic and manufacturing power in their own right.

The University, similar to the Morganites and Hive, lost contact with several of its more distant bases early in the pandemic. One in particular, situated on the eastern shore of Mount Planet, was heavily invested in cybernetic research and reported _itself_ lost with all inhabitants and staff infected and near death on Day 27. Provost Zarakov had little choice but to accept this. The same happened on Day 49 at a seaborne base in the Geothermal Shallows, and again the Provost could do nothing.

Both reports turned out be false, or at least heavily exaggerated. The Mount Planet base, originally called "Baikonur", in fact suffered only a 15% infection among its 2,500 faculty and staff. This deception was perpetrated in order to allow the staff there to complete a radical program of cybernetic "upgrade and enhancement" under the direction of the 'Prime Function' Aki-Zeta Seven (formerly Annikki Luttinen, a programmer and mathematical theorist who had secretly been conducting experiments in pre-sentient algorithms since before planetfall). Aki-Zeta herself had apparently been planning this move for some time, given the receptiveness of the faculty and staff to these 'upgrades'. A similar program was underway at the University's Hydrothermal Institute, situated in the center of the Geothermal Shallows southwest of Pangea. The two bases were soon renamed Alpha Prime and Alpha Basin respectively.

The Cybernetic Consciousness revealed itself to the rest of Planet in 2199, by which time Aki-Zeta Seven's faction had advanced the interface between the organic mind and the machine processor that they were virtually indistinguishable from each other. This made the Consciousness formidable researchers and dangerous opponents (as the University and Morganites discovered in time), but their devotion to pure logic had little appeal to most of the rest of Planet, thus limiting their population growth and broader influence.

The last of these new factions, oddly enough, had been in existence since planetfall. Like any society, there were malcontents and troublemakers who emerged among the colonists, mostly coming from the second- and third-generation to be born after planetfall. Theirs was a general if peculiar ideological creed to which these malcontents subscribed, that of a nearly superstitious respect and fear of Planet itself. This prompted them to engage in disorganized and rather useless campaign of "monkeywrenching" the terrarforming operations underway across the continents.

They nevertheless caused enough of a nuisance that, in 2192, the UN Peacekeepers forcefully repatriated these ecological malcontents to the Isle of Dienera, in the Great Northern Ocean. The Gaians assisted in this, even going so far to set up a 'watchtower' base there to ensure those repatriated didn't attempt to use the island as a launch point for further mischief. Communication with this base was lost on Day 32 of 2195, amid reports of Prometheus-like infections spreading through its population. Anomalous power readings registered from the base led Lady Skye to the conclusion that in the chaos of being abandoned, the base's core overloaded. With the chaos spreading with the pandemic, she had no time to worry over that distant outpost and soon forgot about it entirely.

It wasn't until 2204 that the Gaians, assisted by the Pirates, could launch an expedition to the island in hopes of recovering data stored in the bases mainframe. The Gaian troops were attacked on site and it was quickly discovered that the survivors from the watchtower base and the malcontents settlements had coalesced into an actual society during their isolation.

Styling themselves the Cult of Planet, this new faction was found to be led by what appeared to be a young boy, albeit one who could amazingly breath Planet's open air without difficulty (as could, equally amazingly, many of his followers) and who spoke with considerable maturity and charisma. Named "Cha Dawn" and obeyed without question by the Cultists, this self-titled Prophet soon opened diplomatic channels between his people and the remainder of planet, although since then relations between many of the other factions and the Cult have soured due to the Prophet's increasingly hard line concerning exploration and terraforming of Chiron's frontier.

**Aftermath – Political Re-arrangments**

There were two major political upheavals that resulted from the pandemic's ravages. The first was Lady Deidre Skye's election as Planetary Governor in 2205, replacing Brother Previn Lal of the UN, who had held the position continuously since the first such election in 2165. Lady Skye had to that point been a supporter of Lal's governorship, but given the UN's sluggish response to the early outbreaks, coupled with the fact it was a UN researcher who had discovered the virus and who had warned of this catastrophe, left many unfairly blaming Lal for the severity of the pandemic and its death toll. Lady Skye was elected via a narrow majority, mostly thanks to the full support Brother Lal gave her nomination.

This changeover didn't cause any radical changes in Planet's overall political equations and might have even passed unnoticed were it not for the second major event to shake the political status quo: that of the Gaian-University war of 2212, resulting in the total subjugation of the University, the dismantling of its military, and effectively ending its history as an independent nation.

Up to 2211, relations between the Gaians and University had been cordial but far from close, due in part to there being long-lingering animosity between Provost Zarakov and Lady Skye dating back to the latter's appointment to the original colonization mission (which Zarakov had protested). That year however a Gaian researcher uncovered evidence that the University had been developing a vaccine early in the pandemic, one almost identical to the one ultimately produced that decisively beat _Prometheus-D. _There were even notations of early clinical trials, but nothing on the results.

Armed with this evidence, Lady Skye privately communicated with Zarakov to demand an explanation. The Provost demurred, even going so far as to demand the immediate removal of all Gaian personnel from his territory. Lady Skye obliged, then ordered her Southern Army to march into University Base and put the Provost and his Board of Governors under arrest.

The University's army, while far from the strongest or most aggressive, was especially well-armed thanks to the faction's neverending R-and-D. However, even triple-plate silksteel armor and 250 watt Gatling laser cannons proved largely ineffectual against well trained and directed mature mind worm boils. The Gaian forces suffered some 40% casualties overall, but these were modest when compared to the utter rout the University suffered at the front lines. By the closing days of 2212, University Base and both its fellow campuses along the Pangean 'stem' were completely under Gaian occupation.

Mindful of the dangerous precedent she'd already set in her earlier conflict with the Morganites during the 2180s, Lady Skye quickly came to terms with Provost Zarakov whereby the University became a 'client state' to Gaia's Landing, which would monitor the research and conduct of University labs and personnel to ensure they conformed to the ethics guidelines Lady Skye set down, but would otherwise leave them to their work. The arrangement has worked out remarkably well, and is considered legal precedent should future conflicts ignite and result in other faction's conquest of their neighbors.

- _A brief History of Planet, Marcus Godwinson

* * *

_

**Day 82**

_Kara knew she was dreaming, because she found herself sitting in Joe's Bar, back on _Galactica_. Sitting at the piano specifically, although she knew Lee was somewhere nearby. For whatever reason, her eyes were locked on the keyboard before her, her fingers moving of their own accord and drawing a half-coherent rhythm from the old instrument. She didn't recognize it, even as her fingers fairly danced over the keys. _

"_Voice?" she asked, even though there was no sound in her ears beyond this music._

"_Yes, Karamind?" the alien presence responded immediately, as gentle and earnest as ever._

"_Is this your music?"_

"_No, Karamind. It is yours."_

_"But I've never heard it before."_

"_It is just yours."_

_Because she knew it was just a dream, and that she couldn't play the piano – or any other instrument – to save her frakking life, Kara simply shrugged her phantom shoulders and kept on 'playing'. It was actually a pretty catchy tune, one she could almost…almost visualize._

_Her right hand moved independent of the left, and her fingers felt as if they were no longer her own. She visualized the notes, but only because she was outside of herself, watching herself do something she had no conscious part of._

"_You sure this isn't your music, Voice?"_

"_We are sure, Karamind."_

"_So…whose music am I playing?"_

"_Yours." _

_Kara really wished she could get angry with this disembodied Voice. Except that was like wanting to club a baby kitten - one with very soft fur and big, adorable eyes – to death with a hammer. It was just…wrong…not to mention disgusting on so many levels it made her physically ill that she even visualized it for a half-minute. The baby registered his own objections with a decidedly indelicate kick to her liver._

"_Oh, hush," she growled at her unborn progeny. "S'not like I'd actually do anything like that."_

"_Do what, Karamind?"_

"_I…never mind." Kara decided to stop thinking about stupid, impossible things and concentrate instead on playing 'her' music, only to quickly realize she was repeating herself. The piece, whatever it was, didn't seem to last more than a minute. Again, she could visualize it clearly in her head: a total of eight lines of simple notes. Beyond that, she couldn't begin to describe them…_

_The lights overhead suddenly flickered wildly, causing her to intuitive playing to become decidedly erratic. Kara couldn't help but look around wildly at the racket that suddenly filled the air. On the one hand, it sounded suspiciously like the general comms back on _Galactica_…except that it was overlaid by a screeching sound that sounded like an alarm of some kind._

_The words that accompanied this noise were momentarily incomprehensible…only to quickly clarify into an equally confusing call of _"Ahoy, Isle of the Deep!"

"_Isle of the Deep?" Kara mouthed to herself, the words striking a chord in memory about… something… important…_

_She closed her eyes, the lids suddenly as heavy as solid lead. Her sense of balance likewise shifted suddenly, leading Kara to find herself suddenly…prone, feeling herself laid out flat on her back…on top of something that was unbelievably soft and…and squishy… _

_Her head didn't hurt, but Kara found herself rubbing it anyway, her skin suddenly feeling hotter than before. She tried to rub her eyes as well, only for the back of her hand to hit…something. Outright panic erupted in her chest, the sheer pressure from it sure to be enough to blow her frakking head clear off her shoulders. Only by keeping her eyes closed was the eruption averted._

_But Kara Thrace was no coward. She forced her eyes open…_

…and found herself staring straight upwards into the open sky, eyes safely shielded from the mid-morning sun by her aviators. The back of her right hand abutted the glassed, stopping well short of pushing them off her face. Just as well as they were her only clothing. Mindful of her now clearly-distended stomach, Kara carefully rolled onto her side and crouched onto one knee, slowly looking around and taking in her surroundings.

She was out on the water, maybe a mile or so from shore. The four towers of Razorbeak Wood were clearly visible, although the solitary monolith, whose peninsula served as a gateway to the base's newly-build naval yard, loomed far larger. Biting her lip carefully, she looked down, breath catching at the sight of the uneven, pinkish mass under her. It was broad, forming a vaguely circular shape easily fifty feet in diameter, albeit one whose surface pulsed and _breathed_ tiny clouds of gas here and there. Yet it was firm underfoot, and Kara felt it…adjust…its position as she shifted slightly to relieve pressure on her bad knee, ensuring her balance remained solid.

Ever since her first 'black-out' on the beach, Kara had made it a point to read all she could find on the native wildlife. If the Locusts were a rare sight, the appearance of a _mature_ Isle of the Deep ran a close second. They kept to the open ocean for the most part, surfacing close to shore only occasionally and usually in response to the human colonist's terraforming. Yet there she was, effectively standing on one that was easily twice the size of the same monster that had sent two Pirate skimships to their graves.

Her ruminations were interrupted by another horn blast nearby. Kara couldn't help but flinch in surprise, the Isle mirroring her reaction and shifting sharply to the side, which in turn nearly sent her falling over herself. "Hey," she chided automatically. "Cool it, eh?" The Isle stopped moving, although Kara could practically feel the tense energy that had seized the creature.

"Ahoy!" an amplified voice called out, leading Kara to turn carefully towards it.

"Ah…ahoy!" she called back, seeing for the first time the approaching hydrofoil. She tried to stand, but the Isle abruptly shifting again, moving them away from the approaching ship, and her own baby registered his protest to the sudden movement. At was nearly enough to send Kara tumbling to her ass, although she managed to keep herself upright by sheer will, fueled by no small amount of annoyance. "_Cut that out you_," she hissed, uncertain if she were addressing her infant or her self-appointed guardian…

She frowned and shook her head. _Guardian_? Isles were, by all accounts, the single most destructive manifestations of Chrion wildlife known. Even the occasional Sealurk attack seemed like a manageable annoyance in comparison to an Isle surfacing and literally spitting out larval mind worm boils onto the coastline. And here she was, standing atop a nice-sized specimen that was acting more like an over-enthusiastic guard dog than a menace to life and limb.

That bizarre mental image solidified to a hardened certainty when the…her…_her_ Isle stopped dead in the water once more. Kara knelt down and placed an open palm onto the Isle's surface. "I'm going with them, okay? You just…just cool it. Got it?" The beast remained still, but Kara got the unmistakable impression it not only understood, but would obey her directive (however reluctantly).

She made her way to the edge, slightly surprised to see how it sloped downwards at an angle, little waves licking the sides and her toes as she waited. The hydrofoil drew closer, and soon Kara was able to make out familiar figures manning its guns. One in particular, standing on the deck, was unmistakable in the fury she radiated. "Oh, frakking great," Kara muttered, wondering what the Isle's reaction would be another shouting match between her and Irene.

Thankfully, no-one said anything as the ship drew up so it was virtually on top of her and the Isle's edge. A rope ladder was unceremoniously dropped over the side. Kara looked at it critically, not at all certain she could climb it in her presently gravid state.

She must have been pondering especially clearly, as the Isle chose that same moment to shift again, although this time it did so laterally and somehow managed to _lift_ the edge Kara stood on high enough to give her secure footing on the mid-level rungs of the ladder. Kara took the hint and transferred her bulk there, throwing a sincere "Thanks!" over shoulder. She was high enough to where Ghengis and Mara, both dressed in unfamiliar armor, could reach over the side and haul her the rest of the way over. They weren't violent about it, but it was equally clear they didn't have time to be gentle either.

"Hey, guys," Kara quipped. "What's…" Her throat immediately started burning, causing her to double over with a hacking cough. Irene was at her side in an instant, pressing a breath-mask to her face and throwing a fleece blanket over her.

"She's choking!" Irene practically screeched. "Get us back to base!"

* * *

**Skyline Bar**

******Razorbeak Wood, Residence Tower One, 12****th**** floor**

**Ten to Three Bells Low**

**Day 83**

Irene sat at the Skyline Bar with her vodka glass pressed to her forehead, then gulped it down in one go. She would admit freely that she was avoiding the quarters she shared with Kara. The glass clattered as she dropped it onto the bar and motioned for another.

The previous day had not started well, what with her rolling out of bed with that sickly feeling she had, unfortunately, come to associate with being around Kara. They'd had yet another shouting match the previous night, ending with Kara stomping off and slamming her door and Irene fuming. She couldn't even remember what had started it this time. Upon awaking however, she'd left their quarters to go pound a punching bag until the red haze around her vision receded.

She had only just started to settle into her rhythm of punches and kicks when Genghis had torn into the room as if Cerberus was chasing him, shouting that Kara was outside the base perimeter. They both had rushed down to the armory and slapped on the most convenient set of armor that actually fit.

She sipped at her fifth vodka shot and stared at the wall thoughtfully. That whole incident seemed to conclusively demonstrate that Kara was some kind of magnet for the local wildlife, except it seemed to actually _listen_ to her. From her (admittedly untrained) observations, the Isle hadn't just been responding to her directives, but had been proactively protecting her. It was so…weird. She'd felt the increasing pressure of old memories building behind her eyes as _The Wolf_ had approached the Isle, yet Kara had been perfectly fine sunbathing on the creature's surface. Even with the Isle's PSI abilities on full blast – one of the younger crewmembers had had to be restrained because of the intensity – Kara was lucid and functional.

Irene had been almost hysterical herself by the time the ship reached port and they hustled Kara back inside. Kara's professing complete ignorance about how she'd gotten outside the perimeter, never mind atop the Isle, had Adrienne running her through multiple CAT scans and cross checking her MRI and EKG readings for the last several weeks. This left Irene the unenviable task of contacting Gaia's Landing herself, and was immediately treated to a rare outburst from Lady Skye who all but accused her of deserting her assignment. Not directly, mind, which only made it worse. Her Lady had apologized almost immediately, but this did little to minimize the sting.

So Irene had decided to take a little space from her nominal charge, satisfied that she couldn't go wandering again without at least tripping over the squad of Pirate Invaders that Beowulf had tapped to stand guard on their floor. That had been a nearly twelve hours ago, and nobody had come to find her; Irene took this a good sign, although part of her actually dreaded returning to their suite. Dread, in fact, seemed to be nearly-constant companion now.

Irene stared at the bar top. Atop all this was how she couldn't help but feel that she was being watched very carefully, and not by Lady Skye or Wulf and his gang. It was such an odd feeling at this point, she had very little explanation for it. Probably just nerves, given the unsettled state of things now. She snorted at the thought.

This whole frakking assignment was becoming a farce. No, it was a _fiasco_, worse than the Spartan's expedition into UN territory back in the late 2170s. Her student-slash-charge was able to speak and converse coherently now, and given the wildlife's apparent _affection_ for her, Irene had to wonder why she was still there; likely as not if one of the other factions so much as got wind of Kara and tried something stupid, whoever or whatever they sent would surely run into some very aggressive Worm Boils…or worse. Irene had no idea what the hell was she and her poor skills could contribute there.

And yet the weirdest aspect of it all was…was how she still had _zero_ desire to leave. It was more like she knew, logically, she was should _want_ to leave at this point. At the very least, she should petition Lady Skye to allow her mother and step-sisters to visit them. That was what was quietly freaking her out the most: she had no desire to be anywhere else but right here, at Kara's side, exclusive of all others.

Looking over her shoulder, Irene felt a stab of relief to see Genghis and Mara seated at a nearby table. Mara must have dragged the 'Silent One' out by his thick hair in her latest attempt to get him socializing again, sparing Gretchen her father's poor culinary skills if nothing else. Irene had tried on several occasions to tell Mara that she was going about getting Genghis re-connecting to the outside world all wrong; it seemed like Mara was _still_ ignoring her advice. She mentally shrugged and glanced away from the duo. Not her business and not anyone she wanted to converse with at the moment.

Irene blinked, a bit dizzy from the many shots of vodka she consumed. She was going to have to find a way to get back to her bed soon. The question was could she make it without some serious help…she shifted on her stool and felt her world spin.

Okay – so, not completely drunk, but enough that walking a straight line was going to be a chore. Hopefully Kara would be asleep again and spare them both further headaches, not to mention hearing another off-tune recitation of "All Along the Watchtower".

* * *

**Desik Family Residence**

**Razorbeak Wood, Residence Tower Two, 10****th**** Floor**

**Ten to Six Bells High**

**Day 86**

Svetlana lay on her back, gazing up at her wife as Mara rode her; the latter's hands and arms were bound behind her, causing her generous breasts to jut forward and sway in time with her hips. Lana timed her own movements, ensuring the strap-on she wore plunged to the hilt with each thrust. Mara's face was a masque of bliss and rapture, causing Lana's own heart to flutter and breath catch in her throat. Mara Desik was rightly known to all to be untamable, a force of nature itself, unbound and impossible to restrain; yet she submitted without the smallest sound of protest to literally everything Svetlana demanded of her.

That trust, so absolute and wholehearted it should have been impossible, never failed to shake Lana to her deepest core, humbling her and often giving her fertile imagination pause.

Lana reached up and tweaked her wife's hardened nipples, hissing "Look at me!" Mara did as ordered, and the smoky gaze with which she raked Lana's prone form was enough to send her tumbling into ecstasy. Mara stilled and issued a small choking sound, something between a sob and a scream too great to squeeze out her throat. It was a sound Lana knew all too well, and one that brought her to the peak once more.

Mara shuddered one last time and collapsed, laying herself so their bodies were flush together. Without a word passing between them, Lana reached up and around, untying the leather straps with which she'd restrained her wife's active hands. Once freed, Mara's arms came around and loosely encircled her, most of her remaining energy apparently focused upon just breathing.

For Svetlana Eryn, there was no sensation more rapturous or sensual than the feel of Mara's nipples pressing into her own. The woman likely had no clue how deeply she'd carved into Lana's soul. Before meeting her, Lana would have sworn no other would know her heart, the cruelties inflicted upon it until then certain to have hardened it against all comers. Yet it took only a single look from Mara Desik's dark eyes to crack it open; a murmured, almost shy greeting later and Svetlana felt herself lost to the operative whose reputation for violence and cold-blooded calculation long preceded her.

The weeks that followed were torture on her nerves, Mara Desik offering her few words and an abundance of smiles, each one a taunt which simply drove Therapist Eryn to work her patient harder. Worse, Desik's temporary infirmity left her completely dependent upon her Lana's assistance to do anything besides eat. That Desik demanded to be returned to prime physical condition meant a long and thorough recovery.

It was fuel for Lana's darkest fantasies, and made each session with her patient a torture nearly beyond endurance. The exercises had been bad enough, but having to wash that beautifully-built body _by hand_ daily nearly undid Lana's iron control over herself. She'd even slipped up and mentioned she was a practicing naturalist, which subsequently had Mara doing likewise and driving Lana even further around the bend (especially given Mara's further insistence Lana _shave_ her on a regular basis so they were a "matching set"). By the end of those grueling six months, Lana was a quivering wreck of emotional and sexual frustration; not once had Desik deigned to comment on this or respond to the signals of interest being directed her way.

Lana sometimes wondered if Mara had manipulated her at that dinner in the Bower Commons, where she'd so brazenly declared herself. It had been so unlike her to speak openly and publically of such things. Certainly Mara's sly smile and curious silence that night, normally enticing and distracting, had broken Lana's calm and led her to snarl and hiss words she'd longed to just whisper. She'd been in such a frenzy she'd given Mara her "blessing" to take whoever it was that commanded her heart so thoroughly that she didn't so much as notice what was sitting right in front of her…

Lana would never forget the flicker of surprise that crossed Mara's eyes at this, nor the speed with which she'd stood and silenced her with a kiss that made every fantasy she'd held to that moment seem…tame.

"_I claim she who holds my heart,"_ Mara had whispered to her, followed by another kiss, and that was that. According to Theonite Code, Mara's acceptance of Lana's rash blessing constituted a legal bonding between them. Their spending the next day consummating it was just an afterthought.

Whatever gods there were – her Thelonite creed acknowledged there were as many names for the divine as there were stars in the night sky – surely had some hand in all this. Whatever their ultimate purpose, Lana was careful to offer her thanks to them each morning in her prayers. She cradled her wife close, and let her eyes drift shut, inhaling their shared scent and reveling in it.

Mara's barely-heard question brought Lana back to the present. "'M I furgivin'?" The words barely making it past her tongue. Lana nodded; she'd been beyond pleased to learn of Mara's plan to bring about Irene and Wulf's reconcilation, an event she'd been personally praying for nearly as long as their 'break' had been known. She shouldn't have been surprised that Mara took an equal interest and had even taken matters into her own hands. This latest bout of bacchanalian excess – earlier Mara had to gagged to keep her from waking baby Daniel while she was worked over with the flogger – had been her reward.

"Can I meet her?" It took Lana several seconds to realize she'd spoken, never mind what she'd just asked.

"Who?" Mara slurred.

"Thrace."

This led Mara to shift (and, wholly coincidentally, rub certain highly sensitive parts of their anatomy together) and gaze into Lana's eyes. "Why?" Lana could only shrug the slight tremble to her shoulders and hips only partly thanks to the weight pressing down on her. Mara frowned a moment, nearly leading Lana to dismiss the question, only for those same sensual lips start to turn upwards into a sly grin that always promised them trouble.

"Maybe," she drawled, eyes turning smoky-dark again. "What's in it for me?"

Svetlana closed her mouth with an audible 'clack', lips pressing into a firm, flat line. Summoning strength she previously would have doubted, Lana slid out from beneath her wife to kneel directly behind her. Mara found herself face-down and flat on the mattress before fully realizing it, instinctively struggling to all fours and preparing to spring up to her feet. Lana's hands were immediately on her hips, fingernails digging in there and focusing her attention on the hissed command of "Stay still!" Svetlana positioning herself, then plunged forward again to fill her wife's opening to capacity. Mara's back arched downwards and her toes curled tight, but otherwise held both her tongue and body in place.

"This enough for you?" Lana hissed-snarled as she settled into a steady, agonizing rhythm that never failed to rob Mara of sense and voice. The unspoken answer (naturally in the affirmative) was clear to them both, and Mara resolved to ride all that Lana might mete out. She'd thank the gods in her own way later; there were more immediate things to focus on right then…like not waking the whole damned tower, to say nothing of their son, begging and screaming for her wife's sensual torture to never, _ever_ end.

* * *

**New Jerusalem**

**Conclave Church of the Messiah**

**Private Confessionals**

_**The Hour of Vespers**_

**Day 88**

Miriam's head throbbed in time with her heartbeat. It had been a particularly trying day – New Eden's perimeter defense had failed to stave off a small boil of mindworms and as a result, 10% of the settlement's population was either dead or dying and the rest were at risk of mental exhaustion and major starvation.

She supposed that others would have taken this opportunity to take some rest and recuperate, but her mind was restless and refused to settle. She forced herself to run through various bible verses, prayers and hymns to bring order to her chaotic thoughts, but nothing worked. Her mind would flash back to the holographs that illustrated the destruction of New Eden…and the nagging warnings from the Voice that spoke to her on a regular basis.

Miriam's head bowed in a sad rage. She had known, had been given numerous warnings from the Voice that this would happen if nothing changed and now 539 God-fearing men, women, and children were dead. Her people relied on her to guide and protect them in the hostile environment God had given them…and she refused to heed the warnings simply because of the source. She wanted to pace, to move and wanted to commit violence against something, against herself…

Penance was required of her for her sinful arrogance and pride. She allowed her gaze to fall from the room's far wall and slide over the table in front of her. Laid across was her personal Flagellant whip. Such punishments were meted out rarely, most often self selected for the particularly guilt ridden. Miriam had only participated in the practice three times prior, and felt that this penance was a mere token of what she deserved.

She picked the wicked looking whip gingerly and began whispering the Psalms. With the completion of each verse, she swung the whip across her back with as great a force as possible. Each lash mark stung in time with her heartbeat. She paused at twenty, breathing heavily and closed her eyes. The images from the New Eden incident shoved themselves to the forefront of her mind and her arm swung seemingly independent of her will.

Eyes closed, her penance continued.

Jessica Ely stood just outside Sister Miriam's private confessional. It had been hours and the steady cadence of the whip meeting flesh persisted. She had carefully counted…Sister Godwinson was nearing 200 lashes and Jessica had no doubt that her leader had every intention of reaching 539 before she would allow herself to stop. Jessica would not and could not let that happen. Not today at least…

The beginnings of her plan were interrupted by the sound of a table being shoved and a body falling to the floor. Jessica darted into the room quickly, not even waiting for permission to enter. The sight before her gave her chills for two very different reasons. Sister Godwinson's back was torn to bloody shreds. Some of the skin even torn from her back completely – it was both horrifying and…almost praiseworthy.

That the Sister could and would withstand such agony for her people…and was twitching her arm attempting to continue…Jessica shook her head and quickly yanked the whip away, tossing it into the far corner, "Enough Sister. Would you commit the sin of suicide and leave your flock to wander without your guidance?"

Jessica blinked back tears at the moan that came from Sister Godwinson, clenched her jaw and called for the Sister's personal physician, Westcott.

* * *

**New Jerusalem**

**St. Francis Memoriam Surgery**

**Day 89**

Miriam slowly came to, warm and comfortable. Her first thought was that she must have passed beyond. Mayhap her penance had satisfied the Lord God and she'd been allowed into Heaven?

An all-too-mortal voice removed her from that all-too-ephemeral hope. "Sister? Are you awake?" Miriam considered remaining silent for a heartbeat or three, but ultimately opened her eyes. Her gaze hardened into an outright glare at the sight of Dr. Westcott's white tunic.

"Doctor," she greeted, voice cold as the peaks of Mount Planet.

"Sister," the younger man rejoined easily, refusing to meet her glare in favor of adding notations to her chart. "Despite your attempts to the contrary, you're healing quite nicely."

Miriam frowned, thinking over how _thorough _she'd been in her penance. "Ha…how?"

Westcott deigned to glance at her face, "Some deep-healing gels Lady Skye included in her recent relief packages. It won't do a thing about the scarring, but at least you won't loose any mobility in your shoulders or neck."

"Skye." Miriam couldn't help but spit the name. "You used one of her vile concoctions on me?"

"That 'vile concoction' is the only reason you're still alive to minister us," Dr. Westcott stated coolly. "It was either that, or you remain comatose and likely die thanks to blood loss."

"Perhaps that would have been better," Sister Godwinson muttered.

"Self-pity doesn't become you, Sister," the physician retorted. "And unless you wish the rest of us to be overrun and enslaved by either Santiago's soldiers or Yang's Drones, you would be well-advised to accept the use of all tools at hand." The elder woman gave him a glower, but declined to argue further, so Westcott ended with a final admonition of, "Tools are neither good nor bad things, Sister. It is in their use that one judges them."

Miriam Godwinson glowered again, hating how this youngster could turn her own words against her. Then again, she'd first written them while trying to pacify the desperate survivors of the latest rounds of the Crusader Purges in Central Asia. It might have been amusing that she found herself on the receiving end of such wisdom, finding it as bitter and inadequate as her former flock likely had. It certainly did nothing to lessen the sting of either New Eden's losses nor her less-than-mature response.

But then, wisdom isn't meant to be gentle in the coming or the knowing, only in the understanding of it. Her father had taught her thus and she cringed at the thought of his sure disappointment in her.

Her pa was long dead, as were far too many of her flock. And young Wescott was correct that they were persistently under threat. Miriam actively if lightly hated the self-righteous Deirdre Skye, but she was tolerable compared to either of those mass murderers, Santiago and Yang. Uncharitable and unholy as the thought was, Miriam dearly wished the three of them would just wipe each other out in this insane war of theirs. But alas, according to her spies, Santiago was making plans to call for a blood truce between them, which everyone agreed Skye would accept without question. Once that happened, she had little doubt they'd turn their eyes southwards onto her and her small flock.

Perhaps it was time to take the self-styled Prophet Cha Dawn up on his offer an alliance. The boy was clearly mad as a hatter, but his own flock could surely be useful if they were given proper instruction…

Those thoughts and consciousness itself vanished under the sudden, crashing wave of The Voice speaking to her:

_A closed system lacks the ability to renew itself. _

_The children of the one reborn shall find their own country. _

_Moguls, deposts, and intellects will make fools of us all…_

_The harbinger is arrived! _

_Yet through it all they find one another every year after year…_

_Mind and flower, node and worm..._

_Thráki__, salvation's marshal. _

_Risks of flowering…considerable…_

_Growth dream soon unlock we prison..._

_If our society seems more nihilistic than previous eras..._

_Will we too catch the planetdeath disease?_

_Perhaps this is simply a sign of our maturity as a sentient species..._

_Human beware, planet is risen..._

_Manifold sequence re-aligned…acti…activated…_

_You've never flown anything like this before, so don't…don't…don't…_

_Fetch onward the transformation. Find…find…find…_

_See you on the…other…other…other…other side…_

_Primary, secondary, tertiary factors aligning…re-aligning to pattern…_

_Their shining days renounced by a multitude of dark sacrifices…_

_Cubits can be initialized to arbitrary values…nodes nine-four-four holds…hold…hold… _

_...that they live so long?_

_Gonna have his balls for breakfast…just see if I don't…_

_Reorientation of cerebral chemical processes necessary to model and mend…end string..._

_Can't…can't…can't choose destiny…_ _It is no compensation that the music lives on…_

_And Earth abides...what is the secret of their durability?_

_Node nine-four-four contains recumbent DNA sequences lead…leading…leading to…_

_I can do this all day…follow us…please…_

_Every roze has its thorns, Lady…_

_Heaven lasts long..._

_Find the perfect…perfect…perfect end for the perfect planet of…of…of…._

_Are you ready to listen to me now, Miriam Magdalene?_

_End of line.

* * *

_

**Day 91**

The next time Miriam opened her eyes, she was surprised to see Westcott and a small gaggle of nurses standing over her, one of whom was about to apply defibrillator paddles to her chest. Dr. Westcott stopped the girl from doing so with a surprised "Stop! She's awake." He looked her over and asked "Are you alright, Sister?"

"Quite so," Miriam stated, feeling surprisingly refreshed and wholly awake. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Two days," was the answer, which took Miriam momentarily by surprise. Surprise, which she quickly and ruthlessly suppressed.

"Two…days?" she confirmed.

Dr. Westcott waved the attending nurses away before answering. "Close to forty hours, to be precise. But it's been a perfectly natural sleep, which in itself is odd."

"That Gaian concoction you used…"

"I checked with Lady Skye's people, and they confirmed there was nothing in the medical patches composition that might account for your prolonged sleep. I'm sorry, Sister, but this is something that can't be blamed on them this time." This last was said with the smallest trace of disapproval. Sister Godwinson had never been shy about her contempt for science in general, and medical technology specifically. Even the devastation of _Prometheus-D _hadn't changed her thinking much. At least she'd taken Lady Skye up on her offer of training a cadre of medical professionals for her flock.

Westcott put those thoughts aside and continued. "We monitored some spikes in your gamma patterns…"

"Which are what?"

"Ah, the part of your brain where, um, Empathic abilities originates."

Miriam's face took on a deliberately _blank_ look and she asked in a deceptively quiet voice "Are you suggesting I'm becoming one of…those…people?" It was no secret that Sister Godwinson held Empaths and Thinkers in the same company as the hard sciences. Part of Westcott could understand the prejudice; the Empath Guild that Lady Skye deployed was a damned scary bunch, and the handful of Thinkers he'd encountered during his Clinical rotations in University territory always left him feeling uneasy.

He reassured Miriam "No, nothing like that. Your EKGs are all perfectly normal." He pondered his next words silently for a moment before saying "I've seen similar patterns among Empaths who have…communed with the Voice. I must ask, Sister, is that what was…?"

Miriam gave him an indecipherable look, one that both was and was not threatening, stopping his question before it could be finished. She then simply laid herself back and closed her eyes. "Please summon Sister Ely, Doctor. I need to catch up on events. Thank you."

Westcott pursed his lips, but said nothing to this dismissal. He moved away and left his Parson to her thoughts and plans. He made a mental note to keep an ear close to the ground from here on, now that she was actually listening to Voice. God Almighty alone knew what would come of _that.

* * *

_

**Desik Family Quarters**

**Half past Four Bells High**

**Day 95**

"Welcome to our home, Kara Thrace," Svetlana greeted her guest, giving her a loose hug. Kara's stomach made for a slightly awkward greeting, but both parties weathered it well.

"The blessings of the gods upon you house," Kara replied with suitable gravity. She'd quizzed Irene carefully on the proper responses and had been practicing them for most of the day.

"And upon yours," Lana rejoined, completing the exchange before turning to Irene. "Professora," she smiled.

"Proctor," Irene nodded, trying hard (and failing even harder) to keep her voice steady. Svetlana was wearing her Proctor's robe that night, which was nothing more elaborate than two panels of silk joined at the shoulders with a pair of broaches and gathered around her waist with a thin chain-belt. It was blatantly obvious she wore nothing underneath that, and Irene found herself hoping Mara would behave for once lest Lana be provoked to 'chastise' her before them all.

"So formal?" Mara Desik drawled as she entered the living room, leading Irene to groan quietly. She was wearing only a silk slip that only barely reached past her hips and sauntered to embrace Lana from behind, needing to go on bare-tip-toes to lay her chin on the latter's shoulder. "I think she's still embarrassed," Mara stage-whispered to her wife, causing Irene flush slightly and Kara to grin.

"Mara, love?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Go get dinner."

"Yes, dear." Mara released her and sauntered to the kitchen area. Lana gave them an apologetic look and opened her mouth to say something. Kara however leapt into the breach.

"How long have you two been together?"

"Four planetary years, although the Goddess knows it feels like…well…" Now it was Lana's turn to blush a bit. Kara's grin widened.

"I, uh, know." She tramped down sense-memories of that last hour on _Galactica_, only to have one from Groundbreaking on New Caprica take their place. The baby squirmed in pleasure at the endomorphine rush, which in turn excited certain areas that were no longer in easy reach. Desperate for mundane distraction, Kara looked down and asked "Um, should we remove our…shoes…or something?"

"If you wish. You're how far along?"

"Um…" Kara threw a look over at Irene, who could only shrug.

"Almost 14 weeks, more or less."

"Ah," Lana nodded. "Ankles swelling already?"

"A little," Kara reluctantly admitted. She just _hated_ having to admit a weakness.

"We'll give you a foot-rub before you go."

"You don't…" Kara began to protest, only for Irene to interrupt.

"Don't bother, Kara. They'll just talk you into a full-body massage before they're done."

"An offer, Professora?" Lana asked archly.

"An observation, based on personal experience," Irene replied levelly. "As you doubtlessly remember. After all, you _watched_ the entire time." Lana raised one eye-brow, and the pair engaged in a staring contest, one that ended with both cracking up almost simultaneously. Lana reached for Irene's hands, who offered them readily.

"Its _good_ to finally have you home, Irene. I nearly petitioned Lady Skye to recall you a dozen times."

"Glad you didn't. And Uni Base wasn't all _that_ bad."

Whatever Lana's reply might have been, Mara's voice calling out stilled it dead. "Ready in here." Lana genially waved them to the attached dinning room, pulling out the chairs for Kara and Irene to seat themselves before sitting down herself. Mara came in bearing a steaming serving pot, which she carefully settled onto the table.

"Hope you guys like beef stew. It was all I could whip up this early."

"That's fine," Irene nodded, holding out her bowl for Mara to fill.

"It's been…a long time since I had real meat on a regular basis," Kara affirmed as Mara ladled a generous serving for her. Irene couldn't help but notice how Mara's dress rode up as she leaned over the table, just high enough to expose the undersides of her rear.

She flushed again and asked "Um, did we…interrupt something?"

Mara made a point to lean an extra couple inches as she filled Lana's bowl, causing the hem to ride higher still and expose even more flesh. Lana said "Contrary to appearances, we don't spend every waking hour in bed."

"Nope," Mara immediately agreed. "Mostly it's against the walls, me bent over the sofa, or kneeling at her…"

"Mara, love?"

"Yes, dear?"

Irene unconsciously braced herself, recognizing the tone Lana took. She hoped Kara didn't embarrass easily as it meant she was about to tell Mara to…

"Sit down and eat."

"Yes, dear." Irene couldn't help but blink in surprise as Mara did as bade, flouncing a bit in the doing, but otherwise sitting and sedately tucking into her meal.

"This is good," Kara soon mouthed as she chewed.

"Thanks," Mara replied.

Lana buttered a roll and asked "So, Captain? I understand your people are polytheistic?"

"Pretty much," Kara nodded. "It's the Cylons who believe in just one god."

"Has it always been so?"

"As long as I've been alive. I think there was a cult or fad that preached for a single god, but that was way before I was born. Dunno whatever happened to it." Kara drank some water, then asked "How about your people? Have they always believed in a pantheon?"

"Not…always," Lana answered carefully. "Even now, we have many different faiths on Planet." Mara snorted, eliciting a sharp look from Lana. "Sister Godwinson is nothing if not earnest. You have to respect that, at least."

"Godwinson," Kara mused. "That's the bunch calling themselves 'The Believers', right?"

Lana nodded. "The Lord's Believers, yes. They're very…"

"Earnest," Irene echoed. "To the point of stupidity."

"Fanatics?" Kara asked.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Irene affirmed, taking a sip of the wine.

"They are aggressive, certainly…" Lana tried to explain, only to pause for thought. "No. No, you're right, Irene. They're fanatics."

"Wif' a' capita' eff," Mara slurred around a mouthful of stew.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Lana chided.

"Yes, dear."

"Are there any of them about?" Kara asked after a few minutes.

"We have a few missionaries here and there," Lana admitted. "And Lady Skye has made a point of sending relief supplies their way for the last decade. Sister Godwinson is notoriously…parochial…in her policy…"

Kara frowned and turned to Irene. "The Believers are evangelicals, but only one-way. Any other religion but theirs is forbidden in their territory."

"Lady Skye, wisely in my opinion, doesn't wish for or need another conflict," Lana continued. "And so hasn't made a major issue of this to Godwinson. Not that the Believers are that much of a threat to begin with."

"No?"

Mara finished her own wine and stated "Their enclave is in a very resource-poor region of the continent, and their birth-rates are pretty low as it is. I'd wager a single division of Rovers could blitz straight through to New Jerusalem." She refilled Irene's glass part-way and offered the same to Lana, who demurred. Mara shrugged and grinned. "More for me." Rather than pour into the glass, she took a swig directly from the bottle.

"You're trying to provoke me, aren't you?" Lana observed with twinkling eyes.

Mara gazed at her wife for a long moment, then placed a hand over her heart and drawled "Would I do something like that?" This was followed by another long draught from the bottle.

"You are so lucky we have guests…"

"Like that's stopped you before," Mara shot back, utterly without rancor or fear. Lana's eyes narrowed and Irene braced herself again…only to have a soft cry shatter the mood. "Oh, damn."

"No, no. It's alright. I was expecting he'd wake up." Lana stood and turned to Kara. "Our son. Please excuse me."

"Can I…come with you?" she asked hesitantly.

"Of course," Lana agreed readily. "Looking for some pointers?"

"Um…yeah."

Lana smiled and ushered her guest to the back, throwing a final admonition over her shoulder. "Behave, you two."

"Who, us?" Mara smarted back, causing Irene to cradle her head in both hands. Once the pair were out of sight, she raised the bottle again towards Irene, who picked up her glass and 'clinked' it with the bottle.

"Bravo," Irene silently applauded. "You're really trying to get her going, aren't you?"

"Hey, it's a living," Mara shrugged, taking a sip from the bottle, grimacing as she did. "Damn, that's nasty stuff."

"Tastes okay to me."

"Yeah, but you've been living on _commissary_ food. Your poor taste buds are likely withered away to nothing!"

"You've got something better to offer?"

"Mayyyy-be." Mara grinned and cradled her chin on two fists. "Whatcha planning to do after dinner?"

Irene groaned again, hiding her face behind one hand. She reviewed her options, and decided to forego the lengthy and inevitably futile protestation phase of this exchange. Making a show of looking over the table at her friend's wardrobe, she asked "Will you at least put some pants on?"

Before Mara could answer, Lana and Kara emerged from the back, the latter carefully cradling the baby in two arms. "That's right, make sure the head is supported," Lana murmured encouragingly.

"He make stinks?" Mara asked.

"No. Just peckish." The infant was clearly more than 'peckish', given how aggressively he was starting to root at Kara's breasts.

"Hey, there's nothing in there for you yet," Kara chided. She carefully transferred the baby to his mother's waiting arms. "Um, he always that squirmy?"

"When he's hungry, yes. Otherwise he's either sleeping or sitting about looking cute." Lana settled herself on the sofa, undoing the broach at her left shoulder and allowing her robe to fall away from her breast. Mara was settling herself behind her before anyone could so much as blink, wrapping a supporting arm around Lana's middle, stroking her arm and side and thigh with the other.

Lana's breathing noticeably deepened during all of this, almost from the moment the baby latched on for his dinner. Irene and Kara, who had likewise settled themselves in the living area, couldn't help but notice how Lana's breathing synchronized with Mara's ministrations. The latter settled her chin into the crook of Lana's neck, giving it light nips, which only quickened Lana's breathing further.

Irene merely rolled her eyes to all this, having seen it before. Kara watched with a more thoughtful expression. "Um, should we leave?" she whispered as quietly as possible to Irene.

Mara's roving hand dipped to cup between Lana's thighs. She glanced up their way with a grin that was pure wickedness. "We won't be long," she drawled, both her hands going to work.

"I'll bet," Irene muttered, settling back into the padded love seat and looking everywhere _but_ the display before them. Svetlana, completely unself-conscious, threw her head back and issued a groan that left no doubt of Mara's words.

Kara just continued to watch, trying to memorize the complex ballet of Mara's hands so she could teach them to Lee when he finally got his beautiful ass back into her orbit. Hopefully she'd still be nursing by then.

* * *

**Covert-Ops Section, Admin Tower**

**Day 91**

**Half past Five Bells Low**

Mara munched on the green apple cheerfully as she nearly skipped down the hallway. She passed Genghis' open door and waved but didn't pause.

Genghis watched his friend pass by with a confused frown on his face. It only took a few minutes for him to decide he needed to know whatever Mara was teasing him with and pushed back from his desk to corner her in her office.

As he stepped into the hallway, he noticed Sean standing just outside his office with his tablet open. Sean was staring at what was probably Mara's strangely cheerful wake. He asked "Any ideas?"

"Adrienne and I saw them coming out of the Skyline around Nine High."

"She was out with Irene?" Sean nodded. "Don't they usually get insanely drunk?"

Sean nodded again and tilted his head in question, "I think we are going to have to ask her about it." As one they followed their crewmate to her own office, finding her sitting behind her desk, bare feet propped up and swivel chair reclining back.

"Mornin', boys," she greeted them while still chewing.

"Okay, Mara," Sean started. "What did you do with Irene?"

"Moi? What makes you think _I_ did anything with our beloved Professora?"

Ghengis blew out a slow breath. "The fact you're sitting there like the canary who swallowed the cat, for one thing." Mara simply grinned wider.

"Are we going to need to put a call out for a new interrogator?" Sean asked tiredly.

"Doubt it," she added smugly.

"Will Gretchen need a new godmother?" Ghengis asked pointedly.

"Not in this lifetime."

Ghengis settled himself into the only available chair and stared hard at her. "Just how much did you have last night?"

"Half a bottle and no more, upon my honor."

"Let me guess: _tonique_."

"Yup. Let Irene do the hard stuff." Mara sobered and straightened up. "Looked like she needed it, too."

Ghengis and Sean exchanged a look. "And where did you leave her? Not with Thrace, surely?"

"Do I look stupid to you?" Mara couldn't help the smile that emerged as her crewmates came to the same, terrible, _horrible_ suspicion about exactly where Irene Fedotov had spent the night.

"Surely not…" Ghengis moaned, voice wan and wavering.

"Well…"

"Mara, they'll kill each other," Sean put in, although not with much conviction.

The comms unit on the desk chimed, causing all three to frown as the same sound was echoed from the other two offices. Mara immediately picked up the receiver, face going instantly blank by whatever she heard; a telltale sign of _Bad Things_ coming. Ghengis and Sean immediately braced themselves, expecting the worst.

They were nevertheless shocked at Mara's quick declaration: "Werewolf."

No code-word was more feared among their number, and no other could prompt the frenzy of action of their part. All three were immediately propelled out of the office, Mara bringing up the rear simply because she needed the extra quarter-second to stomp back into her boots and retrieve her gunbelt (Sean and Ghengis already wore theirs). Sean pulled a fourth person – a Marine regular – into the elevator with them with a terse "You're with us, Cannon."

"Aye, Sir," the Marine nodded, not taking offense to the nickname. It was immediately clear to him these Operatives, virtual legends among the Nautili, were heading into action. The fact they'd pulled him into it as well was an honor he knew he'd be mad not to accept. He was an Invader, and that meant he would always move _towards_ the action, however insane it proved.

Sean, Ghengis and Mara exchanged neither words nor looks as they primed their weapons. "You two to Prenatal and keep with Thrace. Call in another platoon and lock the floor. Cannon and I take the residence," Sean directed. As XO of the unit, the directive was his to give.

"Aye-aye," his shipmates acknowledged.

The four of them were charging out of the elevator the instant it opened, splitting into the appointed teams and all-but screaming "Make a hole! Make a hole!"

* * *

**Private Quarters, Residential Tower**

**Twenty Minutes Earlier...**

Irene blinked against the painfully bright sun reflecting off the nearby mirror. She groaned and rolled onto her side, this simple movement enough to sharpen several thoughts to instant clarity. First of all, she didn't _have_ a mirror in her bedroom, so what the frak was going on?

Second…her clothes were not currently on her body. This wasn't necessarily new; she'd taken to sleeping nude since being relocated to the 'Wood, partially because Kara had done likewise and partially because she was - once again - falling under the influence of Mara Desik. In retrospect, perhaps their having dinner with her and Lana hadn't been the best move as the couple's utter lack of inhibitions never failed to make their mark on her (in one memorable case, quite literally).

Irene breathed and took a mental step backwards. Okay, either she'd fallen asleep in Kara's room again…or someone had installed a mirror in her's for some reason. Her eyes squinted against the bright lights and looked out toward the windows. Both those explanations failed as the morning view was _not_ the one to which she was accustomed. The room must have been a few levels lower, as the damnable mirror was catching and reflecting the first rays of dawn. She felt the beginning of heartburn in her chest as her alcohol slowed mind started to work up to figuring out whatever the hell was going on.

She shut her eyes and tried to mentally reconstruct the previous night. They'd had dinner…Lana and Mara were remarkably sedate through it all…although who knew breast-feeding could be such an _erotic_ experience? Desert had been one of Lana's death-by-chocolate creations…followed by Mara escorting them home…seeing Kara to bed, even though it was just Six Bells High…Mara suggesting they go for a nightcap at the Canopy…

The groan this last bit elicited only inflamed her heartburn. _And_ gave her a matching headache. What had she been thinking, going drinking with Mara The Irrepressible? Irene covered her eyes in a weak bid to shield against further memories. Dammit! They hadn't had just a single drink, as Mara The Untamable had promised either. Irene could recall…two…no, three bottles of…no, no. No, it was one bottle of _Tonique_ Gin and _two_ of _Milesguard_ Vodka…which Irene was sure Mara Of The Iron Constitution had imbibed just…she remembered she'd had just…half? Of the gin?

And _just_ the gin?

The heartburn receded as the headache took to the fore. _Tonique_ barely qualified as actual alcohol, and that was _all_ Irene could recall Mara The Oh-So-Clever taking so much as a single frakking shot of! She dry-washed her face with both hands and rolled onto her back. Righteous anger started competing with the headache, only to have the former exacerbate the latter. Irene wasn't even sure who she was more angry at: Mara The Misleading for getting her blind drunk again, or herself for letting Mara The Unmerciful get her blind drunk again.

That thought quickly, unmercifully gave way to a far more serious one: if she wasn't in her suite, where the frak was she? Sitting up, Irene steeled herself to glance back at whoever was shifting around in the bed with her, only to first notice a framed holo-shot sitting on the chest of drawers across from the foot of the bed. If she wasn't mistaken, it showed Lady Skye in an embrace with Captain Svensgaard…and…except they both looked decidedly _younger_…and Svensgaard was wearing an unfamiliar uniform…and were standing in a city somewhere with slate-gray skies and an ornate clock tower in the background.

A terrible, terrible suspicion came to her, leading to her carefully suppressing a humiliated groan. Goddess, she didn't think she had _that _much vodka. She nearly groaned again when she turned her head and confirmed her theory as to what she had done last night once her conscious memory shut down. Or, more accurately: _who_ she had done…

The _who_ in this case, Commander Beowulf Alastair Svensgaard-Skye, lay on his stomach on the other side of his king-sized bed. There was no missing the fat, satisfied grin he wore.

She instinctively froze, hoping that Wulf wouldn't come to anytime soon. Or at least long enough for her to sneak out. Her eyes roamed over his barely-covered form, strictly to reassure herself that he was well and truly out of it. At least that was the story she wring out of her vodka-soaked gray cells, the only one she'd swear on a stack of tech manuals to.

Satisfied there were no surprises coming from that direction, Irene swung her legs off the bed and stood, only to immediately wince and clench her teeth. Her entire pelvis felt…odd. Not bad, necessarily, but…odd. It felt loose, stretched out, like she'd just run a marathon. She walked a couple experimental steps, skin coloring as a too-familiar sensation crept through, originating from openings both in front _and_ behind. An oddly similar sensation could be felt running the length of her jaw, with a musky taste covering her tongue.

Mother Goddess, how many different ways had they done _it_ last night? And why wasn't the stone-cold certainty that she'd just _repeated_ the single greatest…_mistake_…of her 27 years _not_ have her racing out of the room and back to the suite in Prenatal?

Her hand flew up to her neck, and she flushed again at the realization that she was still wearing her necklace, and that _It _was still hanging out in prominent display_._ That meant there were good odds that Beowulf had likewise seen _It_. And that meant that her life was officially _over_…that any notion of independence and self-respect and simple _dignity_ were out the window…

Oh, Mother…what was she going to tell Kara? How the hell was she supposed to explain…this…?

Irene struggled on her shirt and looked around for her underwear. Somehow, it wasn't that surprising that they weren't in sight. Neither were her damned pants. Good odds were Mara had slipped off with them sometime earlier, the frakking amazon! She could only sigh and resign herself to walking back to Prenatal bare-assed as well as barefoot. Well, this was Gaian territory and all…

She turned towards the main door when her sharp hearing picked out a gentle _whoosh_ in the otherwise silent room, the origin somewhere behind her. Before Irene could even think of turning to look, she felt a sharp prick on her right shoulder, followed by another in her lower back, and a third in the meat of her buttocks.

This would be the _last_ thing she felt, her muscles instantly stiffening to the consistency of titanium and causing her to topple to the floor face-down and frozen solid. Irene knew exactly what was happening by the time her nose impacted with the soft carpeting, and her thoughts took on a speed and a life completely beyond her.

_Medusa venom…gotta be…can't move can't move gotta move can't can't can't…Mother!...Kara…they'll go for Kara next!...gotta move!...get up get up get up!...how did they get in here…who are they?...who cares not important gotta move gotta get up gotta run back home…Kara's alone…shouldn't have gone out gonna kill Mara!...bleeding on Wulf's carpet…gonna kill Wulf too…sleeping on the job…fucking me stupid…stupid stupid stupid fucking me!...gonna kill kill kill Mara!...GET UP YOU STUPID BITCH!...get up get up GET UP!...I can't…I can't move…I can't…I'm bleeding…Mother forgive…I'm bleeding and I'm crying…you can't start crying, you stupid bitch!...get up and get home and protect…never apologized…gotta apologize to Kara…don't know why we fight…fight this!...fight fight fight FIGHT, GODS DAMMIT!...I'm crying and I can't feel anything…what's that sound?...those sounds…something breaking?...where's…what's that?...what's happening?...somebody there?...who's there?...what's…was that a body?...what just broke?...are they after Wulf?...no no no no no!...can't move can't see can't feel…is that…what's that noise?...yelling?...who's yelling?...I'm fucking yelling and can't stop can't move can't move!..._

"Irene?" Wulf's voice cut through her silent hysteria. "Irene, are you okay?" The pointlessness of his question – she was clearly paralyzed, and so couldn't answer – had the salutary effect of pissing her off badly enough that she was no longer panicking blindly. Rather she began mentally seething and envisioning all manner of bloody tortures to visit on the first available (non-pregnant) body she could get her hands on. Her peripheral vision was useless, thanks to where she'd fallen, so she could only lay there and stew until new voices were heard.

"Clear!" That was Sean, sounding like he was ready to commit murder.

"Clear!" She didn't recognize that voice. There were other sounds now: boots on the carpet, heavy _things_ being dragged somewhere, voices kept low and saying things she couldn't begin to make out. Eventually, a new voice came and addressed her directly, one that brought relief and panic in equal measure.

"Irene? You awake, girl?" It was Adrienne Hadley, doing her best to sound matronly and affectionate. Irene found herself rolling her eyes and wanting to slap her. "Okay, turn her over," Adrienne was saying to someone else, and Irene quickly found herself being lifted and carefully rotated about to lie on her back. She caught glimpses of Wulf's apartment, which looked like it had gone through a small war, only for the very drab ceiling to take up her entire LOS.

Adrienne was soon leaning over her, shinning a light in each of her eyes. "Okay," her schoolyard chum nodded. "Visual reactivity seems unimpaired. Can't you blink?" Irene did so, dearly wishing the whole time she could crinkle her nose and hit the woman with her best scowl. "Good, good. You were hit with diluted Coil venom, but you likely already knew that. Don't glare at me like that, girl…"

"She's bleeding," Beowulf put in from somewhere nearby, beyond her sight.

Adrienne didn't look away as she dabbed a wad of gauze around her nose. "It's just a nosebleed, Commander. Nothing more serious."

"You're sure?" Was it her imagination, or did Beowulf sound…scared?

"I'm sure, but you're welcome to accompany her to the recovery ward."

"Um…I'll…I'll be there soon." His prevarication was no surprise, at least to Irene. Adrienne elected to throw a glare his way on her behalf before turning to other unseen persons.

"Okay, strap her in. Irene? I'm going to give you a mild sedative so you can rest while this crap flushes out of your system. You'll be out for the next day or so."

_A whole day?_ Irene wanted to scream. _What about Kara?_

Adrienne was adjusting a hypospray and gave her a placating grin. "Mara and Ghengis are with Kara. They'll bring her along to Recovery." There was a hiss of sedative spray and the ceiling began to move as the gurney she was strapped to was wheeled off. Irene quickly found her eyes drooping shut, a pleasant darkness settling over her thoughts and soon swallowing her whole.

* * *

**Razorbeak Wood**

**Secure Room A**

**One Bell High**

Beowulf Skye-Svensgaard entered the room, which was well-lit and bare of furnishings save for four metal chairs arranged in a loose circle around a small folding table. He'd stripped to the waist, but still wore his gunbelt. He looked over the four figures, each one stripped naked and tied to a chair with Marigold Creeper vines. The same vines were used to hold a sizeable wads of cloth that kept their jaws open wide. This last was a guard against the standard Probe Team practice of having multiple suicide options available in the event of capture, the most common being poison in one or more artificial teeth.

Beowulf had been emphatic on the choice of bindings and had personally supervised their use; Marigolds Creepers were one of the more innocuous examples of native flora found in the Monsoon Jungle, and saw wide use throughout Gaian lands. Not only were individual vines able to survive being severed from the parent mass, sealing themselves off and surviving on moisture from the air and photosynthesis for weeks afterwards, but it retained incredible tensile strength throughout. It wasn't silksteel by any means, but Mother Goddess knew it'd take more strength than a human body was capable of summoning to break free, no matter how prime their condition.

Surveying the prisoners, Wulf was confident none of them could manage that little miracle. The double-cusp-trap-slipknots that held the prisoner's wrists and ankles were nigh-unto-inescapable, and not simply because it was one of the most elaborate pieces of ropework yet developed by human hands. Wulf had seen even mature and healthy Razorbeaks stymied in their attempts to escape such knots; the barely conscious Probe Team members stood no realistic chance of managing it.

Beyond his sidearm and ballistic knife, he brought only two other items in with him. One – a Muskcone seed – he placed in the center of the card table, then pressed himself back against the wall. Drawing his weapon and aiming carefully, he fired a single round, hitting the fist-sized seed square in its center. Muskcones were likewise ubiquitous to the Jungle, though found more often in the coastal regions, and were noted for their trademark (and repellent to human olfactory nerves) odor. Their seeds were useless in any practical sense beyond use in schoolyard pranks; their skins were tough, but the volume of methane and noxious gasses they held under pressure was considerable. The only mercy was said gasses were completely non-flammable, just very, _very_ nasty.

As expected, those gasses shot out into the room, making a noxious cloud which succeeded in rousing the four team members with but a single breath. They looked all around for several seconds, all three heaving and blinking and momentarily panicked. Wulf didn't blame them. Even though he'd held his breath and nose when shooting, it was good odds he'd need to wash himself down with old-fashioned tomato paste – several times – before the medical staff let him anywhere near his…Irene.

To their credit, the covert team calmed in an eye-blink and slew their eyes towards him. Wulf gave them a very predatory grin and stepped forward. Confident all eyes were upon him, he reached into one of his belt-pouches and set the slender band of steel onto the table for all to see.

"What do you people know of our customs?" he opened casually, conversationally. None of them deigned to answer, at least not verbally. Just as well, as it allowed Wulf to observe their respective non-verbal answers without distraction. The dark-skinned male and both females were stoic as stone, but the occidental male was actually paying attention to him. This told Wulf he was either the most junior of the group or least trained for actual field work. He put it at 40-60 in favor of the former, which gave him the first inklings of a plan going forward.

"That ring, to my people, is a promise," Wulf continued, carefully dividing his attention between the four. Their reactions – the black male's continued stoicism, the redhead woman's continued straining against her bonds, the brown-haired woman's matching the black man's emulation of stone, and the occidental youth's careful study of the ring sitting between them – all solidified his analysis that this was a team that had been thrown together _ad hoc_. This suggested their 'mission' hadn't been planned much further ahead than the act itself; killing Irene didn't serve anyone's long-term strategy that he could think of. Zarakov might dance a small jig, maybe, but that was the extent of it.

"A promise that I will always put myself between the wearer of that ring and any that might harm her."

The black man wasn't the leader, Wulf was sure of it now. He was _too_ still, feigning complete calm so completely that he must have shut himself completely down mentally; an experienced operator then, maybe, but not someone who could direct others. That left the two women.

"And, should I fail in that, it serves as a vow to…balance…whatever harm she has come to."

The redhead's struggles were too staged, too obvious, to be genuine. And the brown-haired one only looked like she was keeping still. Wulf's trained eye caught how she was subtly rolling her arms and shoulders, testing her bonds. He concluded that those two were working in concert, presumably thinking the men's more overt behavior misdirect his attention. He still wasn't sure which of them was the leader of the unit, provided they even had one. If they were an _ad hoc_ bunch as he suspected, it was likely they were just given their target's name and location and directed to terminate her. That was the kind of half-assed planning he'd expect from say Cha Dawn or Zarakov, neither of whom he could see trying it for fear of his mother's wrath.

"The fact you four are all alive and whole means you failed in your mission. The Professora is resting comfortably under guard. I promise you won't get a second chance at her, ever. That doesn't mean you'll leave this room, however. Not necessarily alive, anyway."

He let them all stew and struggle in their own ways for another five seconds, deciding that his analysis was most likely on target, which in turn clarified his options nicely. Purely for effect, Wulf clenched his fists and brought them down, hard, on the table with a resounding 'CLAP'.

"So, here's how this will go. I now require certain bits of…intelligence from you. This intel would be useful, but it is _not_ essential, to my current plan. Worse comes to worse, I can simply proceed without that intel and develop a new plan of action as needs dictate. I'm very good at doing that sort of thing. Relish it, in fact.

"That doesn't mean I'm prepared to simply execute the four of you, as is my legal right. The intel you can provide me will save me some time and effort. Not very much, but perhaps _just_ enough to warrant keeping some of you…or just one of you…alive for a little longer. Honestly, I don't care that much, one way or the other."

Wulf unholstered his sidearm, but didn't aim it in any direction. The barrel pointed directly at the floor, the weapon hanging loose at his side.

"I don't have the inclination to use either drugs or physical coercion to extract that intel. Such measures simply aren't reliable."

His arm shot up in a smooth horizontal arc, firing off four shredder rounds in smooth succession. The results were immediate and impressive: the black man had lost a chunk of his right shoulder, shards of bone and muscle painting the wall behind him, while the left side of the red-haired woman's head had become decidedly _redder_ thanks to the destruction of her ear. The remaining two fared worst, the brown-haired woman being knocked completely back as the round ricocheted – amazingly without exploding – off her scalp, but did so with sufficient force to sent her spinning and landing, chair and all, with a painful sounding 'crack'. The last round found a home directly between the occidental youth's two wide eyes, the back of his head exploding outwards and covering the sterile wall behind him with bone and gore.

Wulf counted to five again, then slammed his fist onto the table.

"I trust this establishes that I have zero respect for your lives, and that I will not hesitate to end them should it prove more worthwhile to do so. And so you understand, I don't need to hear your voices to know that _boy_ I just vented wasn't a field-rated operative, just as I know that the rest of you aren't an established covert unit.

"In fact, I know a great deal about each of you from just standing here."

He pointed to the now-shuddering black man. "You, for example, are someone who does not operate under deep cover, but rather is a rapid action specialist. You're nothing but a wind-up toy: no patience, no self-control, and no capacity to think beyond the immediate. No wonder you just went catatonic!"

The now-literal redhead was next. "You and your partner on the floor over there are good, I grant you. Deep-cover infiltration requires the kind of discipline and capacity to improvise you've shown in here, but that's useless if you haven't got a decent plan behind it _or_ comprehend your circumstances. I mean, did either of you seriously think you could slip out of a properly secured Marigold vine?"

He paused again to give the pair a slow, sweeping examination with hooded eyes. As he did, a pair of guards appeared without a word or sign of summoning. They marched around the table and righted the brown-haired woman's chair, ignoring her murmurs of distress and pain as they did, then turned and dragged the dead man and his chair out of the room. They did all this without so much as word or glance to the rest of the assembled in the room. Wulf waited until they were alone again, then retrieved the ring from the tabletop, setting his sidearm and ballistic knife in its place.

"So, let's begin with how you received your orders to assassinate the Professora."

* * *

Outside, the two soldiers standing guard heard nothing of what was being said…beyond the occasional gun-shot, that is.

Sometime later, Commander Skye-Svensgaard stepped out of the room. Blood-splatters covered his arms and chest, but he appeared otherwise unhurt and distinctly unhurried. "Two of them are still alive. Take them to lock-down and give them medical treatment. Nothing beyond the minimum needed to keep them alive."

"Aye, Sir," the senior guard saluted. Wulf nodded his own acknowledgment and marched off towards the commissary, wondering what he'd have to barter for the two dozen cans of tomato paste he'd surely need to smell presentable again.

* * *

**Tokagowa Ise Research Hospital, Recovery Ward**

**Day 92**

**Twenty-three minutes past Eight Bells Low**

Irene blinked back a riot of blinking shapes and blobs as she forced her eyes open, wondering if it was the sedative or the Coil venom or both causing the miserable headache that hit her. Tempted as she was to close her eyes and just collapse into darkness again, Irene felt an immediate stab of panic as the previous day's events came rushing onto her. She meant to jerk her body into a sitting position, but only managed to list to the right, tearing an IV out and nearly falling out of bed. Her muscles were sluggish and tight, still feeling the effects of the venom and the fall. For some odd reason, her hearing was a bit off as well. Muffled and rough in her ears, but she would recognize that annoyed 'Frak' anywhere and anytime.

Kara stood up gingerly, as if she hadn't moved in a while. She glared at the squealing alarm coming from the machine Irene had upset. Her fist came down hard on it and the alarm stopped. Kara turned her annoyed gaze to her and put Irene back into bed.

Irene moved her jaw around, hoping to loosen it up, "Uuhh…uhp?"

She watched Kara roll her eyes, "Yeah, if you can tell me which button won't send a lethal dose of whatever this shit is."

Irene was saved from having to formulate some answer by a nurse rushing in, an expression of near panic on her face, "Is everything…" She paused, noticing the broken machine and the two women staring at her. "…Well, um. We have to…get a new one of those. Helps with flushing the toxin out of her system." The nurse frowned and sighed but left without any more.

Kara sighed and glanced at the various buttons, sliders, and other control mechanisms. A quick study gave her a basic idea of which _thing _did what. She pushed a square green button and the bed rose and Irene was able to sit up. Irene eyed Kara carefully – she was strangely quiet considering the circumstances. The truth was, Irene expected shouted insults and a grand temper tantrum.

Instead, she was just…sitting there, reddened eyes wide and apparently unseeing. Irene was unnerved and looked away, down at her toes. The silence stretched into horribly uncomfortable territory as Irene wiggled her toes in an attempt to ignore the silent woman sitting near her.

The nurse returned with a tech to re-insert her IV tube and connect it to a new machine. She tapped a few commands into the panel, glanced between the two women worriedly and quickly left.

Irene searched for some inane thing to say to Kara, hoping to break this very awkward silence. "How is the baby?"

She watched Kara blink once, gaze never moving, "Still in here." She patted the swell of her abdomen absently and fell back into silence.

"How long have you been here? Shouldn't you go get some rest?"

Kara's gaze finally met her own; she blinked several times – confused. "Since they brought you here yesterday." She seemed to hesitate, then asked "You want me to leave?"

"No, no. I was just…worried."

Kara frowned at her and blinked again. This time a tear slid from her eye and down her cheek. She brushed it absently, "I read about this poison. It attacks the central nervous system, first shutting down all but a few voluntary muscle movements. If a patient doesn't receive treatment within 25 minutes, involuntary muscle movements begin to suffer." Kara tilted her head, and for the first time – Irene realized that Kara was dazed and probably in shock.

Irene listened, bewildered as Kara went on to give her an in-depth analysis of the various treatments and uses for the Medusa venom – including its prevalence in the covert operations field. It seemed that she suddenly had a lot to say – not that Irene wasn't learning a whole lot more about the shit than she ever needed to know. But, the more Kara talked about it, the more hysterical she sounded.

"Kah…arrah. Kahhh…rah!" Her clumsy attempts to work past her slow responding tounge didn't seem to catch her charge's attention. She forced herself to yell as loud as she could, "KAHARA!"

The blonde woman blinked, more tears washing down her face. She was silent though and Irene took that to be a good thing, "Fine. I'mmm fine."

Kara shook her head, "I know. I've been here." She frowned and the dazed look came back, "I haven't left you know. Mara and Wulf were here, trying to get me to leave. Wulf even tried to pick me up." She tilted her head, "I haven't slept enough – I gave him a nose bleed. It was an accident…"

Irene felt her brow crease slightly at this very odd version of her friend. She was more out of it than even when she 'blacked out'. She watched Kara glanced down at her hands and just breath for several moments. She brought one up to pinch the bridge of her nose, "I think I need sleep. I haven't slept since I was told about the attack." Kara swallowed, "I just wanted to know that you were okay. Really okay and they weren't just lying to me to get me to calm down. I hate when people do that to me."

"Jus' fine. 'Ears offs…days. No m-more."

Kara nodded, "That's what they all said. But they all want me to be a healthy lab rat, so I didn't really believe them."

Irene shook her head, "Th-they car' about you."

Kara snorted, "Only the potential in my gametes. No – you care about me. You protect me. Wulf does it only because of you. Without you, I'm…I'm all alone." She bit down on her lip, hard.

Irene was growing tired, her head was heavy and she wanted to close her eyes and sleep. But, just as Kara wouldn't sleep until she knew Irene was well, Irene would not let herself rest until she knew Kara was…better. She forced her eyes open, "Jus' fine. Be jus' fine. Promiss'"

Kara nodded and leaned back in the chair. Her eyes began to droop, "You're my only friend. Everyone else wants me for some great breakthrough. Even Hadley, though she'd deny it. You are my friend…just a friend. You haven't even thought about that project you were going to base around my language since the third day we were thrown together."

Irene felt her eyebrow quirk, wondering how Kara had even known…she mentally shook her head. Irene didn't want to know right now. Kara was curling up and her breathing finally evened out into real sleep. Irene decided that it would be a good idea to get Kara out a bit more – it wasn't healthy for her, mentally or emotionally, to think that her only value was as a scientific oddity.

Then again, Irene reflected with brutal honesty, that isn't all that far wrong. She _definitely _needed to change that…

Such thoughts were abruptly side-tracked by a shuffling movement near the door. It took no imagination to guess who it was, the resultant surge of adrenaline more than enough to clear her mind and lend strength to her voice. "Captain," Irene called out softly.

"Professora," Beowulf Svensgaard-Skye rejoined as he stepped into sight. He looked unaccountably nervous, which perversely pleased Irene no end. Were she feeling just a hair more mobile, Irene was sure she'd have simply decapitated him on the spot. Privately, Irene would have preferred one of them simply decapitate the other; at this point, she wasn't particularly choosy about which of them did the deed.

But she wasn't, and that meant they had to actually _talk _to one another, preferably without waking up Kara. Apparently Beowulf had come to the same conclusion as he moved closer to her bedside. Irene caught a faint whiff of tomato off him, and was gratified when she could crinkle her forehead in question, which Wulf read immediately.

"I, uh, used a muskcone in an interrogation…" His voice quickly trailed off, only partially in embarrassment.

Irene swallowed her spit to moisten her throat just enough to speak. "Where's my ring?" is all she asked, eyes fixing on a point somewhere ahead of her. She knew that if she were to look at him directly, he'd see _everything_, something the miserable pirate hadn't earned yet. Her peripheral vision was clear enough that she could see him retrieve _It_ out of one of his jumpsuit pockets. A part of her wished she'd just 'lost' the damned thing years ago.

She might as well wished she could have 'lost' her beating heart, which would have proven infinitely easier.

Aloud she asked "Did you have it blessed?"

"Yes."

"And you made blood sacrifice to Ares and Poseidon in the doing?"

Wulf hesitated, then acknowledged with a very quiet "Yes."

"_Before_ you gave it to me?"

"Yes."

Irene felt like weeping, unsure if it was from relief or rage. "You…stupid…fucking…bastard," she ground out, voice cracking with each syllable.

"I…I'm sorry…" Mother Goddess preserve her, but it sounded like Wulf was on the verge of tears himself. And _that_ just wouldn't do; at least, not until she was in a position where she could properly enjoy it.

"Give me my ring," she ordered with commendable clarity. When Wulf tried to place it in the open palm of her right hand, Irene glared and slapped at his hand. "On my finger, you fuck!" she hissed. "The _proper _one."

Wulf stilled at this directive, remaining frozen for several long heartbeats. Irene ultimately broke through it by raising her left arm as high as she could. The pirate took the hint and carefully maneuvered around the bed to stand at the appropriate side. Irene shut her eyes tight, the better to _feel_ his taking her hand…sliding the ring onto the appropriate finger…and how his own hand tightened in surprise when she grasped it in as solid a grip as she could manage.

Without opening her eyes, Irene said quietly "I am your harbor, your port, and your shelter. For you are my Captain, my flag, and my fleet." Beowulf tried to extract his hand, only to have her tighten her grip. For good measure, Irene opened her eyes and fixed a death's glare upon him. "And if I _ever_ find you with somebody else, my Captain, I swear I'll make a Yule present of her heart!"

There was no doubting the sincerity behind those words. Wulf nevertheless couldn't help but grin. "Just _her_ heart? Why not mine?"

"I'd be pissed off, my Captain , _not_ crazy." She squeezed his hand a last time, then let it go. "Now get the fuck out of my sight until I say otherwise." Irene knew she had little right to issue such an order, but this confrontation coming on top of seeing Kara in such a state had taxed her fragile control to the limit. She dearly hoped the tears that were about to overwhelm her weren't visible yet, otherwise Wulf would likely never leave.

The pirate commander clicked his heels and murmured "Yours to command, Professora." She then heard him turn and march away.

Irene counted to thirty before opening her eyes again, confirming he was gone. Only then did she give in to the tears that had pooled in both eyes, and for good measure she slapped a hand over her mouth to mute the sobs that were rumbling through her lest she wake Kara.

She was soon asleep herself, though it was clear it wasn't a peaceful one.

* * *

**The Flowers Preach**

**Planet Biotech - Biology Lab**

**Inward Bound Project Headquarters, Conference Room F**

**Day 95**

The Principles Team for _Inward Bound_ – DoctorsBseiso, Zheng, Hawatt, Hadley, Jorge, and Naha – were all gathered in the project's main viewing room, watching the recording from Kara Thrace's latest bout of 'sleepwalking'. They were all present in the flesh this time, the material at hand judged too sensitive to risk transmitting anywhere.

The trouble was there wasn't that much to watch, the recording jumping over two hours between half past Three Bells Low and quarter to Six Bells Low on the morning in question. It was presumed that was when Thrace went for her nighttime 'walk' as the latter time was the first recording of a mature Isle of the Deep suddenly appearing in the bay. Precisely how she'd managed to get out of the base without being spotted, never mind onto the Isle, which itself had magically slipped past the sensor arrays, was a complete mystery to all involved.

By accounts, Lady Skye was practically hysterical when news reached 'Landing of this latest incident as well as the recent attack on Professor Fedotov; granted all she reportedly did was pound her desk and spit a few choice words at no-one in particular, which for her constituted a nervous breakdown. Captain Svensgaard simply ordered patrols of the waters around the 'Wood doubled, even going so far as to assign the newly-constructed cruiser _Naiad_ to bolster the flotilla there, after which he apparently locked himself and Lady Skye into her quarters until she'd calmed down (nearly two days later).

The team watched as _The Wolf_ approached the Isle, which had started to shift in a decidedly aggressive manner. It took just having Thrace kneel down and _pet_ it for the damned thing to calm and still. She boarded the small ship, not without some difficulty, which promptly came about and jetted for the docks at full speed. The Isle kept perfect time with _The Wolf_, moving parallel with it, but slowed and ultimately stopped just short of the dockyard perimeter. Once _The Wolf _was moored and Thrace had her feet on the platform, the Isle sank from view completely, its presence once again lost to the sensors.

"Was it following Thrace or…" Hawatt mused aloud.

"Escorting her to safety, I suspect," Zheng stated. "You notice how it calmed when Thrace commanded it to?"

Hawatt shook his head. "It takes trained Empaths weeks to just contain wild Boils, never mind get them under actual control. But Thrace can do it with just a touch?" He started running his fingers through his hair, his agitation only getting worse as he spoke. "My god, do we even…is she even _human_?"

"She's as human as you and I, Pieter," Dr. Adrienne Hadley stated calmly. "She'd got the external and internal scarring to prove it."

"But…this…" Hawatt gestured helplessly at the screen before them.

"This just means…well, we don't know what exactly it means," Hadley admitted. "Perhaps being a non-genetically engineered _Transcendi_ means she's more sensitive to the Planet."

"And vice versa," Dr. Zheng put in. "Clearly the wild life appears to like her; first Locusts, and a now mature Isle, both appearing and disappearing at her direction?"

"I doubt she _directed_ anything, either consciously or unconsciously," Adrienne corrected. "Certainly she didn't 'control' that Locust swarm on the beach two months back. And here all that seems to be happening is her doing a spot of sunbathing in the bay. She hasn't shown any signs of distress or physical injury from this, so…"

"Oh, come on, Adrienne," Hawatt half-yelled. "I know you like her and all, but this…this…"

"She's physically fine. That's my point. Hell," Hadley laughed harshly. "She's in such good health now that I'm starting to wonder if the scarring in her liver and old breaks in her hands and elsewhere weren't put there deliberately, just to convince us she's…she's…" Now it was her turn to rub her forehead and look a tad agitated, muttering "Goddess, where did that come from?"

Dr. Naha broke the momentary silence, asking "Um, has her child shown any…abnormalities?"

"No. Nothing in the slightest."

"Thank the gods."

"Indeed," Dr. Zheng observed mildly. Being a diehard Taoist, she tended to take a dim view of theistic creeds, even though she would never say so aloud. That thought brought something to mind, something she'd previously dismissed as irrelevant. "Hasn't Captain Thrace been complaining of odd black-outs?"

"Yeah," Adrienne confirmed. "They seemed to be coming more regular since she…since we heard about what happened at the High Garden." It was an open secret - a least among themselves - that it had been Thrace who was responsible for the Hive army's destruction there. None of them dared speak of it aloud, if only so as not to endanger their respective clearances to the project. Both Lady Skye and Captain Svensgaard had been especially cagey about anything relating to Thrace lately; this latest incident had them both even jumpier now.

"You examined her as soon as she was back from her, ahem, sunbathing, yes?"

"Of course."

"Did she offer any explanation?"

"No, she…" Adrienne Hadley had nerves as strong as any Spartan in the heat of pitched battle, yet she paled visibly as things came together in her head. "Kara's been complaining for weeks about occasional 'black-outs'. It never occurred to me they might be anything more than ordinary fatigue."

"I doubt it would have occurred to any of us, Adrienne," Dr. Bseiso stated gently, having come to the same unspoken conclusion.

"So where does this leave us?" Hawatt asked.

* * *

**Crow's Nest, Nautali Sea Colony, Emperyon Bay**

**Aerospace Strip **

**Sounding Two Bells (Two Bells Low)**

**Day 102**

The Spartan needlejet approached and landed smoothly, its engines muted and Pulse-armored fuselage glinting in the double moonlight. Only Ulrik Svensgaard and a few guards were there to receive these 'visitors', this meeting needing to remain as covert as humanly possible. The jet was a two-seater, but it was only the passenger who exited the aircraft. Even from a distance and with only the indirect moonlight offering illumination, Svensgaard could tell Colonel Corazon Santiago was _unhappy_.

Why she might be escaped him; it was she after all who requested this meeting, although she seemed to have thought it would have taken place at Gaia's Landing. That had in fact been the original plan, but the various Probe Team incidents within Gaian lands had prompted Svensgaard to change the venue and to limit the participants to just himself and the Generalissima. While Deirdre's absence from Landing would be readily noticed, he at least had the excuse of needing to check on his own people.

Plus which, he wanted the chance to sound out Santiago on his own. He could remember plenty of sharp exchanges between Security Lieutenant Santiago and Science Lt. Commander Skye back aboard the _Unity_, early into the voyage here. Such exchanges were more muted now, but no less sharp and had far wider consequences. Better he make the initial contact and take measure of the Spartan's thinking.

Svensgaard could not help but stand at attention as Santiago approached him. She was no longer his leader, she had abandoned he and the rest of his people in their time of need…and still, he respected her. The anger he felt at her abandonment had faded a long time ago. However, there was and probably always would be lingering resentment.

He had to figure out a way to accept this though, she may no longer be his leader but she was now one of his most trusted allies, ironic as that was. Jones had laughed so hard he nearly had fallen out of his chair when he heard about this little diversion. The younger man was old enough to remember the chaos that ensued after Santiago's initial abandonment and found it ironic that the woman now had to sneak into a base she once built.

For her part, Santiago was wrestling with a great number of conflicting emotions, chief among them was the irritation of having to operate in this manner. She just was not a woman given to a great deal of subterfuge. She was realistic enough to know it had it's place in this world, and to not have some form of covert operational ability would cripple her faction. The self-styled "Data Angels" had amply demonstrated _that _little lesson. But rearranging everything like this was utterly maddening. She had left Sparta Command in the dead of night for Gaia's Landing four days ago, only to be informed _en route_ that the meeting location had changed – to a Pirate base, no less – and that it would just be herself and Svensgaard. Lady Skye would not be present, for reasons that "would be explained" later.

But underlying this anger and irritation was a strong strain of fear. Not for herself; ironically Santiago had no doubt Svensgaard and his Pirates would protect her to the last man. No, her fear was for another; _two_ others, truth be told. Atella was due any day now, and Corazon did not want to be anywhere but with her when the time came. At least her 'Attendants' – she really needed to formalize their citizenship before this was over – were there if worst came to worst; Sun-yi's own pregnancy was proceeding acceptably, so she'd be able to council Atella through her's, and all knew Crixus would die to protect them all.

Quite the strange little 'family' she'd gathered around her; they couldn't have been more precious to her if they'd all been joined by blood, rather than simple circumstance. Santiago wondered if that was how Svensgaard himself felt about his liaison with Skye.

She set those thoughts aside and came to attention before Captain Svensgaard. "Permission to come aboard," she stated flatly.

"Permission granted, Colonel." They exchanged salutes and Svensgaard gestured for them to go inside. "How soon will your absence be noted?"

"I should return to Blast Rifle Craig within the next ten hours, if only to maintain plausible deniability. What caused this change in location?" Santiago fully expected the question to be ignored.

Instead Svensgaard stopped and turned. "A probe team attempted an _extraction_ in my son's own home eleven days ago," he reported in a low voice. "You can imagine the stir that caused."

"I can," the Spartan leader agreed. It was a nigh-unto-unheard-of breach of the conventions that governed covert actions; direct attacks upon families were long forbidden. That it was done to a faction leader's off-spring signaled a new and potentially dangerous phase was opening in the ongoing _secret war_. The thought gave her a chill when she considered the implications of this…and those for her still-unborn children back in Sparta Command.

"This has to stop," she murmured. Svensgaard apparently heard this and readily agreed.

"Yes. It must." Santiago looked at him again, seeing the clear sincerity there. It had been a long time since she'd had an honest exchange with another outside of her immediate circle; even her own field commanders had to exercise extensive _discretion_ in their communiqués these days. That she could speak freely with her former-subordinate/now-equal was…strangely liberating.

_Not _that she allowed these thoughts to show in her expression, which the Generalissima schooled to a stern blankness; Svensgaard might be her equal in rank, but she was the one risking far more here. Better not to give her equal and nominal ally any hints to take advantage of.

In that vein, Santiago gestured sharply towards the still-empty corridor and asked "We have strategy to discuss, yes?"

Svensgaard gave her a small bow and gestured the same way. "We do. Shall we?" The two continued on, marching side-by-side, until they were gone from sight.

* * *

**Razorbeak Wood Medical Tower**

**Togakon Ise Research Hospital**

**Prenatal Care Ward, Room Five**

**Quarter past Two Bell High**

**Day 104**

Kara stared at the still images of her latest ultrasound. She supposed her expectations for the level of detail were a bit idiotic; somehow, whenever they said the word she always thought of the grainy black and white images that were so familiar to the Colonial people.

What she was looking at was a crisp, clear digital rendering that could be viewed in 3d and played as video file. She tapped the three dimensional display button and bit her lip. A boy, healthy and developing normally. He had Lee's nose and the Old Man's ears. There was a little bit of Zach in his chin and his face was definitely similar in shape to the pictures of a younger Joseph Adama that she had seen in the time she had known the Adama family.

It was hard to tell what his hair or eyes would turn out to be, but Adrienne was positive that the baby would have her coloring. Her poor baby was going to need a lot sun screen if that were true. Kara's lips quirked up a bit as she remembered that trips to the beach were probably not going to be possible…but it was nice to imagine.

Her hands shook slightly as she set the tablet down. She placed one on her rounded stomach and covered her eyes and forehead with the other, shoulders shaking. She sensed/heard Irene step into the room and Adrienne standing in the vicinity of the doorway.

Kara couldn't force the shakes to stop or hold back the few tears that slipped down her cheeks. It didn't really feel fair how Irene seemed to be able to turn her emotions on and off depending on what the situation called for. Not that she actually did; Kara was fully aware of her friend's recent crying jags while in the shower, leaving her to wonder what was causing Irene to become so unraveled.

But for the last week or so, ever since Adrienne had taken that frakking' video, Kara had been a basket case of uncontrolled emotion. She'd been tearing up and started shaking at the smallest things. Frak, even crazier was how the increasingly-senseless arguments with Irene seemed to be the only time she felt _calm_ anymore.

She heard Irene sit down silently and all three women didn't speak for several minutes. Irene finally spoke up, "You've read a lot of Earth history over the last few weeks, right?"

Kara nodded.

"There is a saying, most often associated with old Christian writings – 'God never gives his people more than they are capable of carrying'." Irene paused thoughtfully, "I am not a monotheist and neither were my parents…but my mother often said that there was a universal truth in this statement. Our Gods will never place a burden on our shoulders that we are not capable of carrying through to its end."

Irene made a motion over the still playing video, spinning it around so the baby's face was visible to Kara, "I know that you can do this Kara. Artemis and Aphrodite would not have given you this blessing if you were not capable of caring for it."

"I'm scared outta my frakking mind, Irene," Kara heard herself shoot back hotly. "I'm…I…frak…"

She offered no resistance as Irene settled beside her and drew both arms around her, pulling her close. Another glance at her son's face completely undid her, causing Kara to curl into that so-awkward embrace and – for the first time since Zak's funeral – weep openly. Her hands bunched up Irene's silk shirt in a death grip as she shook and cowered before a future she never dared imagine.

* * *

**Poyet Family Residence**

**Day 104**

**One Bell Low**

Adrienne laid next to a quietly snoring Sean. She couldn't stop thinking about Kara's…well, it was hardly a nervous breakdown, but she wasn't sure what else to call it. She couldn't stop thinking about how defeated and scared she looked. It was not something Adrienne had come to associate with the woman.

From the whispered stories about the circumstances of Beowulf's birth, she knew that Lady Skye had been in much the same position – emotionally petrified about the consequences of having a child and not sure if she and the Captain could keep him safe. She'd also gathered from what _wasn't _said that Skye might have also been abused as a child…

Adrienne rolled over, ignoring the twinge at the base of her neck and stood up. She stretched for a moment, waiting for the pressure behind her eyes to lessen. Once her head relaxed, she left the bedroom and went straight to the communications consol, before she could talk herself out of what she was about to do.

Skye answered on the first ring, _"Dr. Hadley. A bit early for your weekly report, but it is nice to see you again. Headaches lessening?"_

Adrienne bowed her head, "Yes Lady."

"_To what do I owe the pleasure of this unscheduled call?"_

Adrienne suppressed a wince at the slightly pointed statement and said, "Thrace is having…mental issues surrounding her pregnancy."

Skye quirked an eyebrow but remained silent, waiting for Adrienne to continue.

"I think her situation is…very similar to your own. You might have insight that would help her through whatever issue is holding her back from really connecting with the infant."

Skye's face had gone from a politely amused expression to something bordering on icy, _"To what situation do you refer Dr. Hadley?"_

Adrienne couldn't really think of a delicate way of stating that her faction leader was probably physically abused by her parents and therefore might have had the same issues Kara was having…so she bluffed, "You know to what I am referring Lady Skye. Kara needs someone who has experiences similar to her own to give her some sort of counsel. As much as Irene or I try, we do not have those experiences. For the health of the child and the mother, please make time to speak with her."

Adrienne was definitely on the receiving end of one of Lady Skye's glares, but she held the Lady's gaze during her curt farewell and nearly collapsed in a nearby chair. She sighed and rubbed her head – which was aching again. Maybe she needed to look into getting her remaining implants removed…the human body had been known to reject materials after so many years.

* * *

**Elsewhere.**

"_Kara Thrace?"_

"_Computer came up empty on that one – whoever she is, she's important enough that Skye was actually listening to the asset. And the Gaians don't want anyone to know about her."

* * *

_

**Prenatal Care Ward**

**Thrace/Fedotov suite**

**Half past One Bell Low**

Kara paced across the common room anxiously. Her nerves refused to settle and she couldn't figure out why. Irene was in her room, sulking about something or other. Kara was never sure anymore, it was as if their very proximity to each other caused tension. She wasn't even sure what had happened this time – they had been getting along well this morning – she had dozed off briefly and woken to an agitated Irene glaring at her computing terminal.

A single word and they were fighting again. Nearly all of their interactions these days were this way and Kara wasn't sure she could take the stress anymore. She retreated to the other side of the room to stare out across the bay.

* * *

Irene rubbed her forehead and tried to breathe normally. It was getting harder to do so and her head was buzzing with numerous…memories. To combat them, Irene fell back on the tried and true method of _distraction._ Ironically, the best that she could immediately conceive was the very source of her constant distress.

Put simply, Irene was not sure that she could stand to be around Kara any longer: the arguments, the constant stress, her constant _singing_; it was just too frakking much anymore. Irene was sure it was time. Lady Skye owed her a few favors at this point, and Irene was going to make sure she paid up. She could even claim a more _familiar _obligation now, thanks to Beowulf having jumped the proverbial gun. Besides, it wasn't like Kara would go unprotected; Irene had heard through her own contacts that the military build-up here was starting to get noticed by other factions. Hades, if so much as one more trooper were added to the assigned garrison, they'd literally be tripping over each other.

Most times such pondering worked to keep the more invasive sense-memories at bay. But that morning it was all she could do to squeeze her eyes shut as…_things_…she really did not want to remember from the past flashed behind her eyelids. Irene forced them open again, suddenly desperate to stem the deluge of old thoughts. In the back of her mind, a thought was nagging for attention but it had some serious competition, not the least of which was the massacre of Mt. Plaia and the Lab Three incident.

Her mind snapped into a moment of clarity. Lab Three was a small University research outpost on the far reaches of their borders, sitting at the mouth of the Planetnek landbridge. Isolated, technologically advanced, and lightly guarded; it had been ripe for a native incursion, especially after its terraformers started a slash-and-burn of the nearby fungal bloom. When she and her unit had arrived, the whole complex was crawling with mindworms. None of the inhabitants had survived and the worst of the waves of native life had retreated by then. They'd had to burn the structure to the ground to drive away the remaining worm boils, many of her unit needing to be sedated immediately afterwards so they didn't accidentally immolate themselves or anyone else in their psychic panic.

The discomfort and thoughts she was having now mirrored those that she had experienced then, only amplified thanks to the added layer of still _more_ bad memories for that anxiety to play with. The center of it was, unquestionably, Kara Thrace. The woman was…overpowering, in nearly every sense. Her presence was naturally hard to miss, the energy she literally _burned_ with easily drawing all focus and attention of all she came into contract with. But why, when Irene knew Kara meant no-one any real harm, did that same presence and energy cause her to react so…so…

Then, as if on cue, it all stopped; the incessant buzzing in her ear, the constant replay of the worst moments of her life, and the prickling along her neck simply _ceased_, as if someone had flicked a switch. She blinked several times, expecting it to come back immediately. Irene stood where she was, staring out her bedroom window, hyper-conscious of her breathing, the sweat beading on her forehead, the carpet under her bare feet…

Most especially, she was conscious of the source of her distraction and anxiety in the next room.

This had to stop, right frakking now, before she lost it completely and did something terminal to herself or Beowulf or godsaloneknew. Just about the only person who was absolutely safe was Kara herself, which made a perverse kind of sense as she'd somehow become the center of Irene's personal universe. Whether she was a nova-bright sun or a naked black hole, she had yet to decide.

Irene was barely aware of her feet fairly gliding across the rug and back into the common room.

Kara felt an odd absence of sound and turned back toward Irene. The other woman was frowning, but not in anger. Now she just looked confused. Her gaze fell on Kara, "It stopped," she stated bluntly, to Kara's obvious confusion.

"Wh…what?"

"Whatever you were doing stopped. Almost as soon as I thought about…" Irene paused, not sure she needed to bring up the fact she was happily planning on abandoning Kara just a few short seconds ago. Except she wasn't 'abandoning' anything, was she? She'd done her assigned job and…and there was no earthly reason for her to stay…was there? Adrienne could look after Kara just as well…maybe even better…except Irene had no idea how they'd fit Adrienne in their suite as well, especially given there were only two bedrooms and one bath and there was _no way_ she was giving up _her_ room and its western view…

And she hadn't seen her family in years, not since her Da died and Mother went and remarried and she'd gotten a new sister (who reportedly idolized her) in the bargain. Harriet was _sure_ to love Kara, especially once she learned how Kara had arrived…the girl was completely pilot-mad…plus Kara wasn't so far along that a short trip to _Children-of-Earth _would be a serious risk to her or the baby…

Irene shook her head sharply. Wait, hadn't she just decided to leave? Why was she planning a trip to her family with Kara in tow? Not that such a trip would be that hard to plan. They'd just have to leave early in the morning to beat the daily flight traffic that clogged the skies over the Gaian's primary commerce node…maybe she could convince Kara to fly the Raptor one more time…

"Stop it," Irene hissed, more at herself than Kara, who was looking at her more warily than ever.

"Stop…what?" Kara asked carefully

"Stop…whatever it is. This…this…_crazy shite_!" Irene gestured about with both arms at nothing in particular. Her agitation wasn't the normal aggressiveness, however. If anything, she looked more collected and focused than ever.

"I…you're…something about you is making me frakking insane. It's what's making me lash out…at you…every godsbedamned day…and I want…I _need_ for it to stop." Her shakes stopped as she said this, her voice taking a kind of detached quality that sent chills across Kara's spine.

"Irene…" Kara tried speak, suitably terrified now. She'd seen a similar behavior in a second-year Cadet she'd played off-hours Pyramid with at the Academy, one who it turned out had 'emotional issues' and had to be mustered out of the Academy. There'd always been something off about how she'd stop and stare at those who apparently displeased her, and how her voice would take on an entirely different tone and pitch right before she did something – usually quite direct and violent – that racked up serious demerits. Kara later heard the girl ended up murdering a roommate before hanging herself.

While she doubted such things were in the offing here, Irene's manner quite frankly scared the crap out of her. Kara knew…at least hoped…that she could fend off anything her friend might throw at her. She made a point of moving away from the suite's bay window however, in case Irene completely lost her frakking mind and charged her with intent of taking them both over the side of the balcony.

"Irene, you're starting to scare me…" Kara half-jumped at the sharp bark of laughter Irene issued.

"I'm frakking…frakking _terrified_…all the _godsbedamned time_…an' _I don't know why_!" She rubbed her forehead with an open palm, her other hand clenched into a solid fist.

"What are you, Thrace?" she hissed, both fists clenched now. "What are you doing to me that I can't…I can't even _think_ about leaving you?"

"You…want to leave?" Kara stuttered, appalled at the thought. This seemed _wrong_ somehow. Sufficiently so that it got her back up and provided a much-needed shot of adrenaline. "Then why don't you?" she challenged, her own fists clenched.

Irene however appeared unwilling, or unable, to answer this directly. "I haven't seen my family in _years_…an' I can't so much as _think_ about them without including you." She rubbed her forehead again. "You and I scream about every fucking thing on Planet…but you squirt a couple tears an' I…I'm ready to _kill_ anyone who so much as looks at you sideways." Irene drew herself to full height and glared at her friend and tormentor. "I want you to stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Stop…holding me…here. Please just…just stop…'cause I'm…seriously considering blowing my fucking brains out…seriously…"

Kara's only response was to blink in shock. Irene realized as she said this how serious, and not, she was on this point. In truth, suicide was the furthest thing from her mind, if for no other reason than she couldn't envision leaving Kara to fend for herself. Unfortunately, her thinking had become so befuddled and confused that she was equally convinced there was also _something_ lurking in her head that needed to _come out_…preferably by the most direct method available. Which, again thanks to her muddled mental sate, translated into putting a shredder pistol to her head.

The fact these two impulses – protecting Kara _and_ removing this 'something' from her head – effectively cancelled each other out didn't register with her. Thankfully, Kara was more clear-headed, and so was able to react in her typical outside-the-box manner. To whit: she marched right up to stand nose to nose with her friend and delivered a very solid fist to Irene's jaw. It was enough to send Irene spinning and stumbling backwards, although she quickly righted herself and, after giving herself a quick shake, went back to glaring. Kara interpreted this as Irene getting focused once more, and therefore no likely to go grabbing a gun.

Unfortunately, this likewise meant Irene's fury was more clearly targeted…on her. Normally Kara wouldn't have minded, giving every bit as good as she got. However she was feeling more delicate than usual just then, the force she'd put behind her punch apparently having drained her reserves.

The young Empath stared at the wall gritting her teeth. Her thoughts kept circling back to her anger and frustration. "Gods damn it Kara! I know you are doing it – stop it!"

"I…I have no idea what you're talking about Irene. I wouldn't...couldn't do anything like…" She shrugged helplessly.

Irene pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to focus her thoughts _past_ this crazed haze she was wading through. Coherent speech was always important in these situations. Otherwise, Irene had a feeling she was going to go bat-shit crazy and actually go ahead and grab a gun and…

Kara winced as Irene turned a very powerful glare on her, the Empath's chaotic roil of emotions hitting like a physical force. Fatigued, both physically and mentally as she was, Kara couldn't help but want crawl into the nearest hole, ugly memories of the Old Man's face when he called her a cancer that needed to be cut out imposing themselves on the present. Kara's gaze fell as her eyes filled with tears.

Her head snapped up when Irene let out a muffled scream. Irene was staring at her, eyes wide in horror, stumbling backwards only to trip and land flat on her ass. Kara felt "her" Locust suddenly appear and flutter softly against her cheek. As expected, the sing-song presence of the Planetmind quickly followed.

_What is this noise, Karamind?_

_My friend, she's…_

_She is hurting you?_

_What? No. No, no. She's just…something's wrong with her._

_Oh, we know this one._

_You do?_ Kara re-focused her attention on Irene, who by now was huddling in a corner, sobbing and whimpering. The Locust was hovering just above her, its buzzing having taken a decidedly _nasty_ tone. It was quickly clear that Irene's moans of distress were coming virtually in time with the Locust's sharp hisses and buzzes. It didn't take much imagination to figure what was happening, leading Kara to quickly step forward and cup both hands around the airborne worm.

"Hey, you! Quit that!" Kara chided. She could feel her tiny friend (the thought came literally from nowhere) continue buzzing and hissing in her hands. It however made no effort to actually free itself. "I mean it," Kara hissed in turn. "Quit scaring her."

The Planetmind replied in turn.

_But Karamind, was not earthIrene causing you pain?_

_There's being angry with someone, an' there's deliberately hurting someone. Irene was just…angry._

_But we only want…_

_An' I'll bet you've been scaring her so much she's gonna lash out. I mean, didn't you lash out when some humans blow deep holes in you?_

_But we…_

_Just stop it! She's my friend an' I don't want her to suffer anymore. _

"Understand?" Kara heard herself saying aloud, realizing suddenly that she was 'back' from communing and, more importantly, Irene wasn't huddled in a corner anymore. Instead she was standing just a few paces away, eyes fixed on her still-cupped hands. Kara was about to step away, intent on releasing her Locust out on the balcony, when a wholly new mindvoice reached her.

_Is that…singing?_

_Irene?_

_Kara? Can you…can you hear this?_

_Yup. Practically since I got here._

_Hullo, earthIrene. We are pleased you hear us now._

_You…you're the Voice Lady Skye is supposed to hear. _

_Yes, we speak with earthDeirdre. And now we speak to Karamind. And now we speak to you._

_I…how…_

_Will you sing with us, earthIrene? Your song is a beautiful one._

_I…I don't know how to sing._

_We will teach you.

* * *

_

The guards standing outside the suite were initially worried by the shouting that had gone on, but had long gotten used to it. A few however were downright unnerved when they heard what sounded like a lot of off-key singing. And even more laughter intersped with it.

* * *

**Gaia's Landing**

**Lady Skye's Private Residence**

**Day 105**

**Two Bells Low**

Svensgaard entered his lover's residence as quietly as he could, fully expecting her to be fast asleep. To his surprise and private dismay, she was very awake and standing before the room's great window. In the double moonlight of Nessus Prime and Pholus, she appeared almost angelic. It didn't hurt she wore only what she was born with.

He sidled up behind her and wrapped both arms about her. There was nothing remotely sexual about the contact; theirs was an intimacy more primal than even _that_. "Waiting for me?" he asked, not leering nor enticing. Her distress (for lack of a better word) was clear enough when she didn't lean back into him. Svensgaard thought back over the past three decades since they'd reconnected, trying to come up with a corresponding incident to the body language she was broadcasting. The closest he could come to was her near-hysteria in telling him of Beowulf's conception.

The thought had the Captain frowning. Before he could ask the obvious, Deirdre had a question of her own. "D'you love me, Captain?"

Svensgaard adjusted his hold so his fingers came to rest on the simple metal band on her third left finger. "I swore in sacrifice to Ares and Poseidon to hold you above all others. You can choose one or a thousand others, but I'll never take another." He nuzzled her neck, seeking _that_ single spot that always left her weak. "'Sides, I know how much you like buggering me."

In response, Deirdre shifted and carefully moved that same hand so the fingers ran parallel to the long-healed breaks along her left forearm. Ulrik murmured "I know about this." He took her left hand in his, fingertips caressing each of her four fingers. "Just as I know your fingers didn't grow naturally at this angle."

"There's more."

"I don't care."

Deirdre swallowed and whispered "You will."

"I won't," Ulrik stated, somewhat more forcefully than was his wont. "And neither will Thrace." He was gratified beyond words when she stiffened in his arms, her only sign of complete surprise and a silent admission to his implication. "I've had a feeling about her from the start, how she an' you are more alike than can be said." He tightened his hold upon the Scot who'd held his heart for nearly two centuries. "'S time to finish healing, love."

"I hate ye an' yer easy ways, my Captain." Deirdre Skye hissed venomously, relaxing into his arms, her native brogue thickening. "I hate how _easy_ ye make the world work about ya."

"Aye," Ulrik Svensgaard smiled.

* * *

**Hive Settlement **_**Unification's Cavern**_

**Upland Wastes, Northwest Pangea**

**Day 110**

**First Quarter, Eleventh Hour (fifteen minutes past Two Bells High)**

No-one is ever alone within the Human Hive. Even those allowed to work on Alpha Level, at surface level, were ever attended by The Eyes. For Meing, this was as natural as breathing, and she had long ago ceased to think about it. More accurately, she had learned to reduce the inescapable throngs of bodies and scents to mere background noise, no more distracting than the sound of her own breathing. She had found precious, illicit privacy within her own mind that way, and used that private space in ways that would surely have her banished (and worse) should the Chairman ever so much as suspect it.

Meing was but twenty years old, and had spent fully half that time planning and preparing. The Chairman, being her primary teacher, provided all the motivation she required to carry on to her ultimate ends.

But recent events had shifted her focus, and she now turned her attention and thoughts to unraveling the mystery the Chairman himself had – possibly unintentionally – presented sixty days before. Meing had long ago recognized the dangers of direct action within the Hive, and so made no inquiries to anyone directly, all while keeping her indirect ones innocuous.

Meing knew better than to use the term "Partnership", which she took to be the overall name for whatever project or campaign the Chairman had initiated. The word was too 'loaded', and too likely to reach the Chairman's ear. The other code words used – Pact, Sect, and Endeavor – were a little easier to slip into odd conversations with those around her. She kept such 'slips' confined to those she judged most likely to be part of this "project", and thus would react (however involuntarily) to hearing them. It was through those momentary reactions that she hoped to divine the scope of whatever this matter was.

She was ever careful in her moves here, mindful of how her sister had disappeared in decades past, long before the Prometheus plague, after asking one too many questions of the Chairman's actions. Meing took no action or activity that lay outside of her normal patterns. Because she was being groomed for some niche within The Leadership, Meing had been taught from the start to use all means and methods available to her to reach a given goal. This time was no different.

Among the scientists and engineers and commerce monitors and maintenance drones, she traded in time and Bliss Tablets and work shift modifications (the Chairman had afforded her limited authority to modify schedules, an authority she rarely exercised and never without adequate justification). These trades were common enough within the Hive, Meing undertaking many herself, albeit strictly for utilitarian reasons; they provided her with necessary contacts and support she reasoned she would need someday. She did not neglect the Eyes in this, although there she made more use of her skills in combat and took advantage of the weakness her body invoked in many of the men and women who served there.

"May all our endeavors prove fruitful," she would mutter three times, each at strategic moments, among the scientists and engineers.

"I would offer a pact for our mutual efforts," was spoken in low, casual tones among key personnel in Commerce Monitoring, in the guise of expanding her personal web of contacts and contracts.

Among the Eyes, Meing was especially circumspect, their paranoia acute and honed to a razor's edge. To them, she would declare some variation of "It is only because of you that our sect is so strong."

In all cases, she watched the reactions these words elicited, taking careful note of those few whose behavior marked them. Those few, and the positions they held, told her more of the Chairman's designs than perhaps anyone realized. Meing however knew that the little she knew – while more than enough to warrant her termination – was nowhere near enough to act upon.

So she would continue to watch, and wait, and plan. And she would wonder all the while why the Chairman would need the services of a handful of geneticists, surgeons, environmental engineers, and psi-trained security personnel? More importantly, she would wonder who the Chairman had allied himself with (why else would he use the term "Partnership" as this effort's masthead), and what their ultimate goal was.

Thankfully Meing Ko-Yang, second-born child of the Chairman of the Human Hive, was nothing if not patient. She would unravel the mystery in time. This, she silently swore upon the memory of her lost sister, adding the vow to see their father's head decorate the end of a spear for good measure.

All she needed to do was watch, and wait, and plan, and when the time was correct…strike.

Until then, she would use her mind and body as her father had taught her, as tools to reach her chosen end. And if that end included her father's humbling, all the better.

* * *

Please let Uberscribbler and I know what you think! Thanks for reading! 


	8. Chapter 8

**Battlestar **_**Galactica**_

**Day 97**

In the six weeks since Sam had nearly torn his arm off, Lee had studiously avoided going anywhere near Auxiliary Air Filters Maintenance Closet on C deck. This proved easy enough as he didn't lack for distractions during this time. The days immediately after learning what the Cylons had done to Anders were taken up by the twin crises of the _Galactica_ starting to literally come apart at the seams _and_ news getting out about Roslin's cancer returning full force.

The latter was actually proving harder to manage than the repairs they were putting to The Bucket. Tyrol's discovery of just how compromised the _Galactica's _superstructure was led to a flurry of bracing and welding that kept the knuckledraggers and a fair number of the civilians busy. The Admiral had initially balked at allowing Cylons to do the same work, but after two weeks it was evident no amount of bracing and welding would delay the _Galactica's_ collapse. Only after the Yellow Corridor on D deck broke open to vacuum – thankfully it was empty at the time – did his father finally relent and allow the Cylons to try their hand at it.

The irony, needless to say, was thick enough to cut with a knife: the Cylons were actively working to 'heal' the very ship they'd been actively trying to 'kill' for nearly three years. The organic paste that was being spread onto the bulkhead and load-bearing members appeared to be working, although it was slow-going and every day brought another worry about another section of the ship breaking open. As a caution Lee had suggested to his father that all personnel be withdrawn into the core of the ship, at least until they were sure the outer corridors wouldn't succumb to sudden decompression.

This only complicated matters with the fleet's Captains, many of whom were now making noises about cannibalizing _Galactica's_ systems for their own ships. No-one had been stupid enough to bring it up to Lee – yet – but he heard plenty of talk.

Talk, in fact, was fast becoming the one thing Lee found he couldn't manage effectively. Not that he didn't make a game effort at quelling what rumors he could; it merely proved to be about as easy as containing an oil stain floating in very turbulent waters, which was to say next to impossible.

The worst was the news breaking that Laura's cancer hadn't just returned, but was now well into its advanced stages. There was no way in the whole of creation he could argue this away, if for no other reason than the simple fact it was completely true. With Zarek dead and gone, this left just Lee himself as the primary civilian authority that everyone turned to, with all the attendant pressures and demands such a position entailed.

Lee was a little surprised he didn't simply go limp at points and all but force everyone to go back to Roslin for direction. But then he found himself remembering Laura's own self-assessment from weeks back, when they'd discussed the schematics and equipment Baltar had brought with them from Earth. "Too compromised" didn't begin to cover how badly mangled her personal reputation and standing had become amongst the Fleet. Lee heard that talk as well, but was even more at a loss what to do, especially given how he agreed with a good bit of it.

So he carried on, offering advice and mediating conflicts and riding herd on increasingly argumentative shipmasters. Just about the only good news was the complete absence of any Cylon pursuit of them thus far. The consensus among the defector skinjobs was the destruction of the Resurrection Hub must have put the fear of god into Cavil's faction, and therefore had them moving far more cautiously than before. This gave Helo time to get the air wings of _Galactica _and the basestar integrated and into a routine of joint scouting and patrol. Who knew the last known tube of toothpaste (Feldgarb brand at that) could motivate everyone to play nice?

All of which was all well and good, provided one overlooked how Baltar was still transmitting his weirdness over the wireless. He'd gotten onto a kick about seeing 'angels' walking among them, proof of a 'living god' and other nonsense. But Baltar had earned a measure of relief for having helped during Gaeta's mutiny, even if all he'd really done was run off to the basestar and kept the Cylons somewhat calm during it. Lee found himself wondering of the girl who'd helped him – he had no idea of her name and could only barely remember her face – hadn't been one of his devotees.

Listening to the former-President-turned-prophet speak however wasn't helping his peace of mind any. Or so Lee judged going by how he was hearing phantom piano music and suffering through weird dreams most nights; both were more wearing on him than the constant negotiations with the fleet's captains over supplies and fuel. He wouldn't have minded the dreams if they'd been strictly himself and Kara; instead he had to share them with a whole cast of faces he neither recognized nor whom seemed very friendly. Add to that how frakking _real_ they always seemed – whether he was standing with Kara in a desert somewhere, or on the deck of a warship at sea, or just sitting under a tree in a park under a red-tinged sky – and it was little wonder Lee was starting to doubt his sanity.

Hence how he was becoming a regular feature at Joe's. If he wasn't in CIC, his nominal office on B Deck, in conference with the fleet captains, or looking in on his father and Roslin, Lee would park himself in a stool at the bar and nurse a glass of something that barely qualified as non-toxic. It seemed the only place that afforded him a bit of peace any longer.

He was doing that last one that very moment and while it was hardly the kind of behavior one expected from the President of the Colonies (however dubious that title and position), no-one seemed ready or willing to call him on it. If anything, it seemed to improve his stock with the crew, as if showing he was as human as the rest of them was some kind of reassurance for them.

Lee let these thoughts flow through his consciousness as he took another sip of his current drink; somehow they'd managed to infuse the latest algae brew with a whiskey-flavoring that made it worthwhile. Someone started in on the piano again, someone who knew what they doing for a change. The melody…wasn't half bad. It almost sounded familiar somehow…

"Pass the word: President Adama to the CIC. Pass the word: President Adama to the CIC." Dee sounding somewhat breathless in her announcement had Lee more concerned than her use of his still-unofficial title. Lee had taken extra care to keep her busy ever since he'd stumbled in on her readying to shoot herself; she'd been among the few to support the Admiral from the start of the mutiny and gotten beat down for her trouble. Through it all, Dee continued to project an air of competence and absolute calm, which left everyone who knew her all the more worried.

To say Lee was actively scared about his ex-wife's state of mind would be something of an understatement. Whatever had finally broken through that almost-psychotic calm of her's must have been damned serious.

Lee drained the rest of his nameless drink and stood, struggling on his jacket as he did. The piano music had stopped, prompting him to glance at the balcony the old instrument had been placed on, a little surprised to see a civilian sitting there. He didn't recognize the man, who was bent over a small stack of papers, jotting down what were likely musical notes.

Dee's voice broke in again. "All hands, reapeat: all hands. Ship is at Alert Two. Repeat: ship is at Alert Two."

Those words were all that were needed to drive any other thought from Lee's mind, sending himself and the rest of the bar sprinting for the exits. Alert Two was just one step down from a general attack, which meant things had gone from serious to deadly in the space of a heartbeat. He _had_ to get to CIC to see what it was.

Surprisingly, Lee found himself the last one out of the bar. He stole a final glance back at the piano, finding it abandoned now as well. He wondered for a moment if that should be disturbing or not, but quickly dismissed it. He was needed elsewhere, RFN, and beat feet to get there.

* * *

**Chiron**

**Day 118**

**Morgan Industries, ****Elysium west coast**

**Quarterly Assurance Meeting**

**Morning Session (approximately Eight Bells Low)**

Morgan glanced up at Due Diligence Manager Takahashi with some annoyance. This was the third time in the last nine days that Takahashi had come into his office and asked about the mysteriously vanishing ECs. He had hoped the man would let it go with his promise to look into it, but obviously, Takahashi either did not trust his CEO or was pushing for a promotion. The latter could be excused; the former would need to be dealt with.

"Sir, this is serious. The number of credits going missing is alarming. We're looking at actual deficits for the next three quarters."

"Hardly the first time," Morgan reminded him genially. Takahashi was nick-named 'the limpet' by many of his fellows; the name had little meaning to most of the second and third generation of colonists, but Morgan's own contemporaries (and there were still plenty of them about) never missed the joke. A limpet might be small and slimy and spineless – and there was no question the first two applied equally to Takahashi – but there was absolutely no getting rid of him once he'd latched onto something. He'd hold on until satisfied, through thick or thin or all manner of demotions. He put up with this because 'the limpet' was a veritable wizard at rooting out irregularities and bent employees. It was no exaggeration that most of the business he enjoyed with the other factions was due in large measure to the aura of integrity Takahashi projected.

_Not_ that it made the man any easier to deal with. "I am concerned because the authorizations placed upon the withdrawals are top tier and completely unexplained."

Morgan eyed the man standing across from him. Perhaps it would be best to give Takahashi a snippet of information, just enough to satisfy and get him off this most recent obsession. His new partners understood there would be questions raised on his end by this sudden diversion of resources. There would be serious consequences for not just Morgan Industries, but also for himself personally if the real purpose of the financial transactions were discovered.

Morgan mentally shrugged; in the end, his partners needed him more than he did them. If they took issues with how he kept things quiet on his end, so be it. If worse came to worst, Morgan could just write off the entire investment…and bring the whole affair directly to Lal and Skye. If nothing else, they'd be in his debt for the foreseeable future.

It was a contingency he'd prefer avoiding however, if only because he positively hated the thought of a no-return investment.

"This is, of course, need-to-know only. And you certainly do not need the details, but if it will put your mind at ease I will tell you that I have decided to invest in a new venture. Mostly classified technological research. Thus the large number of credits required." Morgan stared at the younger man with a great deal of gravity and some menace. "You will now drop this line of investigation. If I find that you are still following up on this, I will have you fired, not merely sanctioned and demoted."

Takahashi paused, as if contemplating his options. _Smart man,_ the CEO thought to himself. Potent as the threat was, Takahashi wasn't going to be stampeded into a decision. He quickly came to decision however, nodded sharply. "That's all I needed to know, sir. For the future, may I suggest you flag such transactions somehow, if only so my department doesn't waste its time thinking we've been robbed?" He then bowed and left without any further arguments or comment, a small breech of manners Morgan decided to overlook. The man meant well, and there were none more loyal to the company.

Turning his thoughts from his troubling yet vital employee, Morgan wondered again at the latest stroke of fortune to have come to him. True, it set back the Longevity Vaccine trials, possibly to the point where that sanctimonious ass Lal would finish it first. Still, if his partner's promises bore out, the actual returns for this investment were nothing short of…transcendent.

And there lay the rub. He had to trust the actions and motives of certain players who had yet earn it, and over whom he had little to no actual leverage. As much as he disliked seeing no return on an investment, Morgan loathed being in a situation where he wasn't in full control. He didn't even have a clear idea about how his partners planned to reach their stated goals.

Sitting there, eyes staring outwards across a bustling metropolis he'd watched grow for nigh unto two centuries, Nwabudike Morgan couldn't help but wonder if his centuries-dead family back on Earth weren't the lucky ones.

An hour after his meeting with the CEO, Due Diligence Manager Kyle Takahashi was finalizing yet another in an endless series of reports to his superiors. Casual as you please, he switched to typing into a stand-alone LinkTablet he kept on his desk to one side. It was just a few lines of code, which he promptly saved to an old-fashioned Flash drive attached to the tablet's side. Without pausing, Takahashi ejected the drive and bent to unlock a secured drawer under his desk, seemingly dropping the datastick there and relocking the drawer.

His co-workers were well-used to Takahashi's borderline mania about his security, his demonstrated gift at detective work having earned him a few enemies. What most didn't know was that he was an equally formidable cryptologist, a skill he put to use in what he considered his secondary line of work.

For example, none of his colleagues were aware he'd actually palmed the datastick he'd just worked on as he'd reached into his desk drawer, allowing a duplicate one (right down to the small scratch on its casing) to fall out of his shirt sleeve and into the drawer. Similarly, no-one present likely suspected he would pass the Flash drive into the hands of someone he'd pass in the hallways later that day. Takahashi had no idea who it would be or when, merely that he would look for someone wearing a blue rosette, which was the identifier for this month's 'drop'. The identifier would be changed immediately thereafter, possibly changing contacts as well; Takahashi had no idea what it might be next time, nor would he know until he signaled he had another such 'drop' to make.

This surprisingly simple system had worked quite effectively over the last few years, allowing Takahashi to pass on little tidbits of intelligence to his preferred allegiance. Nothing that could be traced directly back to himself, mind, but important all the same.

He nevertheless had the sense that the day was approaching when he'd need to make use of one of the many escape routes he'd privately developed over the years. His 'controller' (whoever it might be) didn't know about them and hadn't asked; Takahashi expected that he was considered "disposable" as an asset by the other end, which strangely didn't bother him overmuch. He'd known the risks coming in like this, and would play the game as long as he could.

That bracing thought in mind, Takahashi returned his attention to the report before him and tried to decide how many individuals in the Assurance Department at _Morgan Robotics_ he should implicate in the latest cost-overruns they were experiencing.

* * *

**United Nations **_**Haven City**_

**Pholus Ridge, Pholus continent**

**5:40 (equivalent to quarter to One Bell High)**

_Peacekeeper One_ didn't look as if it were the single oldest aircraft on Chiron, despite having the dubious honor of being precisely that. It was the only Scout 'Copter to have been salvaged from the wreckage of the UNS _Unity_; the other five of its original squadron had yet to be found anywhere on Planet. The Peacekeeper scouts who had originally found it had been beyond ecstatic and Commissioner Lal had made it a point to keep the elderly 'Copter in pristine condition. Certainly it had proven its worth over the intervening century as both a scout and transport.

That day however was taxing _P-K One's_ endurance to the extreme, and not simply because it was being flown directly into the teeth of a rainstorm. The flight's destination was none other than _Haven City_, the furthest settlement out from _UN Headquarters_. It was the newest colony to be established, constructed atop Pholus Ridge and placed literally within a stone's throw of no less than three of the many geothermal exhaust craters that dotted the ridgeline. Its high elevation and abundant energy production made it among the more productive of the UN's bases, despite how small its population was in comparison to the rest of the Peacekeeper's protectorate.

_Haven_ served a secondary, less well known purpose: that of monitoring station for the handful of small survey satellites that circled Chiron. Lady Skye might have succeeded in sending up hydroponics farms, a tribute to the Gaian's ingenuity and industry, but it was Lal's engineers who cobbled together far more practical orbitals out of practically nothing. Those satellites, primitive as they might have appeared, had allowed the UN to map every corner of Chiron's surface. More importantly, they now provided them the means to keep better appraised of the major movements across Chiron than the whole of Synder Roze's Probe Teams combined.

Normal protocol had the monitoring staff transmit synopses of daily activities and movements to _UN Headquarters_ on a twice-daily schedule. It was therefore a bit of a surprise that Settlement Governor Clyde Burr had sent a signal directly to Commission Lal's attention all but begging he come to _Haven _personally. He stated the 'matter involved was too sensitive to risk over the DataLinks.' Given the Planetary Council was set to convene in barely two days, such a request would have been deferred until later. However given Burr, who had a well-deserved reputation for being both level-headed and a stickler for procedure, was the one making this request Previn Lal felt obligated to make the journey. Clearly something had unnerved the man, and instinct told Lal that 'something' was well worth the inconvenience of this trip.

Unfortunately, _PK One_ was the only vehicle in their inventory that could make it there and back in the time available. The monopole mag-rails didn't reach that far north yet, and to travel overland would take a month at least. While neither the Commissioner nor his staff objected on the choice of transport, it made for a cramped flight. He'd reluctantly left Sarita back at _Headquarters_ and brought just Muscharev and two guards. They'd even stole away in the dead of night so as few as possible knew of his movements. Ian groused and gnashed his teeth, as was his wont, but otherwise kept silent throughout the twenty-hour flight.

Arriving at _Haven City_ was no small relief for all involved; Unity 'Copters hadn't been designed nor intended for long-term occupancy, and Peacekeeper engineers were still working on a way to make it air-tight. Both passengers and crew practically spill out of the aircraft and onto the tarmac. Governor Burr and several of his staff were there to meet them, hustling over as soon as the rotors stopped spinning. Burr and Lal shook hands, most of the enthusiasm coming from the former. "Commissioner! Thanks for coming here!" the Governor enthused over the roar of the rain.

"Lets get inside, shall we?" Muscharev interrupted, gesturing towards the settlement's entrance. Very few knew Lal had been recovering from a bout of the flu and no-one wanted him to risk a relapse, hence his huddling under both Muscharev's umbrella and inside a thick cloak. The small entourage quickly hustled inside and past the various security checkpoints that dotted the hallways of the settlement's Security Tower (or Pillar, as the local terminology went).

Small as _Haven City_ might be, it housed not only the UN's space surveillance monitoring station, but likewise boasted both the most active researchers and most productive 'skunkworks' labs in the UN's protectorate. No surprise then the sheer number of checkpoints inside or that its garrison was the only one to date outfitted with both portable photon 'wall' armor and the newly produced Resonance Lasers. Even the presence of their faction's leader didn't lead to them relaxing their guard by much, so it took nearly a full half-hour to navigate to the third floor of the Pillar.

A popular misconception about the UN was that its extensive bureaucracy was a reflection of how it arranged its settlements as well. In truth they were nothing short of utilitarian in both their architectural designs (the 'teardrop dome' that topped each Pillar being their sole artistic indulgence) and internal décor. The UN might regulate its economy and trade down to the penny and kilo, but it knew well-enough to make sure its citizens were comfortable as possible. Even 'Strategic Monitoring', with its banks for workstations and large projection screens, had the atmosphere of an old-fashioned movie theatre than a critical military facility (right down to the faint scent of buttered popcorn).

The staff that Watch had been warned ahead of time of the Commissioner's impending visit, and so all were busy attending to their respective stations. This was more for show than effect, the real business of 'Strat-Mon' being done by the bank of computers running off a small community of pre-sentient algorithms in one of the sub-levels (nobody present knew which one) and the handful of analysts who manually and consciously sifted through the raw data (who were somewhere else entirely - again, nobody present knew exactly where).

Lal and entourage didn't have time or inclination to spare any of them a glance. Rather they let Burr lead them to one of the terminals in the back of the chamber, which he sat himself before and quickly typed in a series of commands which neither Muscharev nor Lal could make out clearly. Once this was completed, the Governor scooted out of the way to give the pair an unobstructed view.

"Per your directive, Commissioner, we'd retasked one of our orbital's to geostationary position over the Gaian base east of Empyron Bay," Burr explained quietly. "Just as well as we caught the…destruction of the Hive forces that had lain siege there."

"I remember your memo," Lal nodded, studying the display's timestamp. The recording was set to the day of said event, specifically a couple hours after the decimation of the Hive forces there (as evidenced by the still-smoking ground and deep craters that had been gouged out of the ground. "I further remember your advocating sanctions against the attacking party for violating the UN Charter."

"Well, yes," Burr admitted. "Given the size of the explosion that destroyed that army, we initially thought some kind of tactical nuke was used." Muscharev was the only one who voiced his disbelief aloud, albeit through a rude snort. It went without saying that the relief of _Gaia's High Garden_ was presumed to be the work of the Gaians themselves, but the notion Deirdre Skye would even consider using nuclear weapons against her enemies was nothing short of a bad joke.

"We initially registered just the explosion, and with the sheer scale of the destruction, well…"

"But you've changed your mind," Muscharev finished for him.

"Why?" Lal asked.

"Obviously we immediately started going back over the footage, trying to identify the weapon used."

"And have you?" Lal asked genially.

"That's why I asked for you to come personally, Brother." Burr was one of the few on Planet who routinely addressed Lal by his old patronymic, the two of them having met and worked for a time in the old World Health Organization back on Earth. "We know now it was a simply a barrage of conventional missiles," Burr reported, typing another set of commands into a nearby LinkPad and the images shifted on the screen again. This time to a period some hours earlier.

The besieging army was laid out in neat and orderly ranks then, its batteries and fleet of armored rovers sitting ready to attack the Gaian settlement in force. From out of nowhere was a small flash to east, followed by an equally small shape which zipped across the screen. This object, whose dimensions and precise shape were impossible to gauge from this short exposure, vanished somewhere to the west in yet another burst of light. This conundrum was momentarily forgotten at the sight of what it had left behind: an unbroken line of missile contrails that rose straight upwards, until to a one the projectiles ran out of fuel and fell earthwards.

There was no way to count the number detonation that followed, one quickly fading into the next and the next and the next, until they were all subsumed into a single massive fireball that erupted somewhere off to the side.

Burr took up the narrative as the black mushroom cloud rose slowly over the land. "We believe one of the missiles hit an ammunition cache near the rear, which just set off everything else in the immediate vicinity."

Muscharev asked "Do you have an estimation on how wide the coverage was?"

"At least two miles in every direction, sir. What's more, it appears the hit on the cache was completely accidental." Neither Commissioner Lal nor his minion responded to this, leading the Governor to add "We've checked through all available data concerning Gaian weaponry and haven't found anything suggesting a new guidance system…"

Lal held up a placating hand. "No-one's doubting your analysts, old friend. Have they managed a count of the number of missiles that were used?"

"Yes," Burr nodded. "They estimate two standard pods worth were fired off."

"Simultaneously?"

"Yes, sir."

"Which leads to the next obvious question of what type of aircraft was used, yes?"

Rather than answering, Burr tapped another command into his LinkPad and the recording on the screen rewound to freeze on a shot of the mystery aircraft zipping across the screen. The background faded away and the indistinct object enlarged, a variety of geometric shapes and angles overlaying it at a dizzying pace, polymorphic software seeking to identify the angles and design of the object itself. It took nearly a full minute for the computer to do its work, which told much of how radical a design the aircraft ultimately proved.

Everyone present studied the three-dimensional image that resulted with singular intensity. Again, it was Muscharev who gave voice to their collective reaction:

"What in the name of god is _that_?"

An hour later found Lal and Muscharev loitering in the Pillar's expansive lobby, waiting for _PK One's_ crew to finish their pre-flight and walkaround. The Commissioner was staring off into the distance, eyes and attention very far away while Muscharev kept his own attention earthbound and watched attentively for either the pilot or co-pilot waving them over. He almost missed his Commissioner's murmured question. "Sir?"

"What's going on here, Ian? What are we missing?"

Muscharev frowned in confusion. "Sir?"

"This mystery aircraft, on top of everything else that's been happening in Gaian territory…"

"Those reports are still unverified, Commissioner," Muscharev reminded him, although this lacked any real force or caution. The naysayers in the Intelligence division at _Headquarters_ had yet to come up with a decent argument against the variety of reports they'd received, and Muscharev was just cynical enough to give even the wildest of them credence. He'd always felt there was something otherworldly about Deirdre Skye, even before she opened her Empath Guild, and her extensive holdings in western Pangea held all the air and mystery of a bad horror tri-dee.

Now, with rumors of Locust boils appearing and disappearing _without_ causing any damage, plus all the Probe activity they were hearing of? Ian Muscharev wasn't terribly religious, but he was starting to question whether or not The Almighty – whatever It might call Itself – wasn't taking a direct hand here.

Commission Lal was still talking, apparently unaware of his aide's distraction. "But that aircraft? How are they moving it?"

"Its an aircraft, Sir," Muscharev pointed out. "Likely they just flew it…"

"Yes, yes," Lal agreed testily. "But how did it manage to approach unseen until it was literally over the Hive army?"

"Some new jamming equipment," was all Muscharev could suggest. "Comm-jammers are fairly commonplace these days." Both men knew it was an inadequate explanation at best. The proposed 'cloaking shrouds' their researchers were whispering about were still years if not decades away, and the Gaians were too busy sorting out neural interfaces to pursue the new engineering that would be needed. None of the other factions, Morgan included, were moving in that direction either.

"What about the mystery woman? Any developments there?"

"Besides this bizarre talk about a 'locust charmer', whatever in blazes that is? No, sir." Muscharev shook his head tiredly. "I know there's a veritable race between Skye and the Prophet over who can summon the biggest worm boil, but I can't believe either of them have progressed to the point of summoning Locusts."

If Lal had anything to say to this, it was cut short by their pilot signaling them to board. They had a long flight ahead, and thus adequate time to digest these latest revelations. Muscharev thought it likely they'd both have indigestion from the same long before they reached home.

* * *

_**Razorbeak Wood**_

**Pangea, northwest shore**

**Thrace/Fedotov suite, Medical Tower**

**Ten past Nine Bells High**

The door chime sounding caused Irene a decidedly involuntary start. She'd been expecting it, true, but to that moment hadn't seriously thought the arriving party would summon the stones to actually come to her doorstep. The cowardly frakker had 'communicated' to her these past weeks through his posse, using his nearest and dearest as messengers between them, which was both perfectly consistent with both his personality and her command to him two weeks ago.

The latter, Irene later realized, had also been a test of his resolve and his rather brazen declaration while she'd been de-toxing from that attempted abduction, one she hadn't consciously thought of imposing. Apparently Kara's "out of the box" thinking had rubbed off a little there. Certainly it hadn't previously occurred to her how easy it would be getting Kara out of the suite before now. Her now daily visits to the aeroport expansions that were under construction – with either Sean or Ghengis or Mara, plus a sizable contingent of guards, along to make sure she didn't so much as sprain her ankle – had her in better spirits than before. Besides, if worse came to worse, her pet Locust could just whistle up some reinforcements. Irene was actually feeling more confident about the impending Council session than ever.

Hopefully Kara wouldn't return to a suite where blood painted the walls later that day; Mother Goddess alone knew what she might make of such a sight. But that was for later and beyond her control. There and then, she had a much-anticipated visitor, one she was decidedly reluctant to allow near herself.

Nevertheless she called out, with commendable gravity, the simple command of "Enter." Beowulf Skye-Svensgaard marched into the room with equal _gravatis,_ his standard jumpsuit and boots looking unusually _clean_. He also looked freshly shaven and groomed, which only set Irene's teeth on edge. He was presenting himself as if he were on inspection, which in turn implied he viewed their relationship as master-and-commander. While the image of having Beowulf Skye-Svensgaard serve as her personal footstool (among other things) delighted certain portions of her anatomy, her brain was anything but pleased.

"Professora," the master of Covert Ops rumbled her way, eyes fixed forward. Irene tightened the belt that held her bathrobe closed, for some reason feeling decidedly insecure right then.

"Commander," she sneered back. "I'm a little surprised you came."

"You communicated to me that my presence was forbidden in your vicinity until such time as you might summon me."

"Be…" Irene tried to speak, only for her Captain to override her every word.

"_And_ it was communicated to me, again by yourself, that you would happily slam the door in my face if I _dared_ show up here before you _deigned_ to summon me." Liquefied Oxygen was like a raging inferno compared to the chilled tone with which 'Wulf spoke, and Irene suddenly found herself fighting back tears.

"Fair enough," she muttered, then straightened herself and glared at him directly. "I asked you here because you _owe_ me an explanation."

"About _what_ do you wish me to _explain_ myself, Professora?" He sounded genuinely curious there, and Irene found herself almost believing him. But only almost.

"How you could give me your ring and make your promises to the gods…and then…you guh…go…" Irene had to swallow a fair number of words (and bile) before continuing, fairly hissing "And then you and…and parade around with a dozen other women, many of whom I know were _Entretients_. Does your vow mean so little to you that you foreswear it so quickly?"

"Have a care!" 'Wulf snarled, head snapping around pinning her with a death's glare. "It was you who commanded me to absent myself, remember."

"I remember," Irene spat in reply. "I remember it was you who vetoed my placement in CoverOps…and then gave me your ring! And the next frakking day you were with two of those…those hussies!"

Beowulf's brow wrinkled, equally in amusement and confusion. "Hussies?"

"Don't start. I'm trying to be polite about it."

"Trying…"

"Just tell me why, 'Wulf. Tell me why you were…was it because of me?"

"Of course it was because of you! I all but publically pledge myself and you…you tell me to walk off the pier! What did you expect I'd do?"

"For you to fight back, dammit. If you were going to pledge yourself…well, why didn't you?"

"You told me to 'go kiss the Krakan', quote unquote." It took 'Wulf several breaths before continuing. "Do I need to elaborate just what kind of insult that is to levy?"

"I'm familiar enough with your Pirate _patois_, Commander." Irene wasn't about to admit she hadn't been so at the time, learning soon after how she'd called into question his manhood, sexual preferences, _and_ personal integrity with that one admonition. If not for likewise learning it had been his veto that kept her out of CovertOps, she'd have immediately apologized and gone through whatever chastisement was required to clean the slate between them. As it was, they were now stuck doing this absurd bit of _kabuki_, including these little meetings between them. Simply running each other through with skewers and roasting the other over an open fire would have served just as nicely and required a fraction of the time.

Irene shook her head and continued. "I'm equally aware that what I said hardly constitutes grounds for betraying me like you have…"

"And how, precisely, have I betrayed you, Professora?"

"I counted you with ten different hussies before I was sent to Uni-Base, _Commander_. And I've heard enough to know there were at least a dozen more after that. And don't get me started on my exile to University territory!"

"And you think I slept with all of them?" He seemed to find the notion absurd.

Irene's smile a bitter, contemptuous travesty of humor. "It's my experience that _sleep_ has very little to do with it."

'Wulf took on a matching expression and replied "Indeed, especially given I never touched _any_ of those women."

"Not one? You expect me to believe that?" Irene folded her arms tightly about herself.

"Believe me or not, it's the truth. They were strictly…strictly just for show."

"Really? For who?" His silent stare was all the answer she needed. Irene felt herself turn a delicate shade of scarlet, as much from the high praise implied by his taking such measures as by the cringing embarrassment of it. "Why didn't you just say something?" she murmured, eyes downcast.

"You don't tell someone to 'kiss the Krakan' and expect them to give you the time of day."

"I'm sorry," Irene breathed, ashamed nearly beyond words. "I shouldn't…I…"

"I forgave you the minute you said it," 'Wulf replied, quietly and gently.

Irene went still, shame instantly evaporating under the surge of righteous rage that ran through her. "You…forgave me? Her head snapped back up, eyes afire. "You _forgave_ me…and you _still _put me through…through all that?"

"You did…"

"Oh, shut up! I'm sick to frakking death of tip-toeing around those stupid…you…"

"Shall I leave now?" Wulf asked as diplomatically as possible. They'd danced through proper forms now – he'd presented himself, she'd denounced him, he'd denounced her, words of forgiveness had been spoken. Two more meetings – the shorter the better – and they'd be done with this nonsense.

"_Get the fuck out of my sight, you…you Pirate!_" Irene spun on her bare heel and faced the bay window, flinching as 'Wulf clicked his boot-heels.

"Yours to command, Professora."

"Fucking right," Irene muttered. When she heard no retreating footfalls, she sighed and glanced back over her shoulder. "You still here?"

"Merely to know when I should await your call tomorrow."

Irene rubbed the bridge of her nose, scowling hard. "Uh, eight bells low. I'm sure Kara will want to go to the airstrip again."

"As you wish. Dinner?"

"Uh, day after the Council session. I'm gonna be a wreck until then."

"Irene…" He spoke her name with such care and caution it nearly undid what little composure she had left.

"Just…just go, 'Wulf. Please? I promise you tomorrow. Don't ask anything more right now."

"Tomorrow then," he acknowledged after a long silence, followed quickly by his retreat from the room, leaving her standing there, shaking in the bright sunlight which set her skin aglow. As the door swished closed, Beowulf heard the crash of some silicate object against a wall, unable to help the small grin that tugged at his lips.

Two more meetings like this, and they were _done.

* * *

_

_**Free Drone Central**_

**The Borehole Cluster, northern Pangea**

**Aerospace Prototype Docks**

**First hour, Second Shift (equivalent to Eight Bells Low)**

Domai was transfixed as he watched the ship, recently dubbed the 'Flying Toaster' by the engineers, turn on the equivalent of a dime. Even without the power of the original propulsion system, it would fly further and faster than all but Skye's new _Penetrators_. And even then the 'Toaster' would still have the advantage of vertical take-off and launch, plus it could climb at a perfect 90 degrees to the horizon. If they could find some way to arm it properly this aircraft would surely be unstoppable.

The ship was truly an engineering wonder. Domai honestly thought he might ask the designer to marry him – he didn't care if they were male, female, or made of silksteel alloy. Hopefully he could convince Lindley of the advantages of such an arrangement. He chuckled quietly at the thought of Lindley agreeing to share her chosen bedmate; the girl was nothing if not possessive, to the point Domai wondered if she wasn't taking his people's national emblem of 'broken chains' in the wrong vein.

Forcefully putting aside thoughts of how seriously he and Lindley had complicated relations between their nations for the moment, the Foreman refocused on the aerial acrobatics being performed overhead. The design demanded the lightest and strongest material for its construction and this attention to detail would pay off in huge dividends. It would put Morgan out of the shipping business in this hemisphere and afford his people a measure of prosperity and security.

At least it would once he paid to secure the manufacturing rights and paid the necessary royalties. Domai swore to himself he would even if he had to sell Smokestack Hill or start playing the global markets to get the ECs for it. Hell, he'd hire Roze to get the information he need to do it, something Domai had previously considered too unsavory for words.

In that vein, he turned back to his assistant who was currently _bored_ out of his mind and spinning around in his chair slowly. Maxwell Dole might have been the hardest working Drone around, ensuring the Foreman's directives were met and implemented almost as quickly as Domai expressed them; but that same energy made next to impossible to manage the boy when he was sitting idle. It was one of the reasons the Foreman made a point to keep him busy as possible, even if it was nothing more than fetching his lunch.

Domai resisted the urge to chide his hyperactive minion and tried to think of something to detail to the boy before he had them both climbing the walls. They'd already eaten and the coffee carafe was still half-full, so sending him for food was pointless and wasteful (and if there was anything the Foreman hated – anything that wasn't wearing a Hive uniform that is – it was being wasteful). By the same token, he might well need a new aide if Maxwell spun himself around one more time.

Looking back at the 'Toaster' as it landed, Domai found several thoughts coming together in his mind, interlocking and forming what amounted to something of a masterstroke. "Max?" he called out, eyes still locked beyond their observation port.

"Boss?"

"I want a letter composed to Lady Skye. Something suitably…diplomatic." Domai watched Maxwell out of the corner of his eye, seeing the boy perk up considerably. For all the energy he brought to his administrative work, Maxwell Dole brought all that and more to the occasional diplomatic errand he was tasked with. It was one of the many reasons Domai always held him back in that field save as a last resort; he was smart enough to know that the sensitive diplomatic machinery that collectively ran foreign relations across Planet's many nations was unlikely to stand prolonged exposure to Maxwell…at least not without exploding.

"Saying what, Boss?" the energetic Drone asked, shaking Domai back to the matter at hand.

"Sayin' I'll be dropping by _Great Lagoon_ seven days after this session o'the Council."

"Reasons?"

"Combination o'business an' pleasure. Official business bein' inspecting the sealurk tank they contracted from us, just t'see if its holdin' and all." Domai allowed himself a grin. "The pleasure will be the company of Lady Skye herself, but strictly as a friendly visit between leaders, ya understand."

"Ah. So no mention of Miss Mahon." It wasn't a question, so Domai didn't deign to treat it as one.

"One thing I want you to slip in between the lines, Max."

"Boss?"

"I'm coming with something that Lady Skye will want to see with her own eyes. Don't be blatant or sinister about it; just a friendly word of warnin' to her Ladyship. Try best as you can t'make it sound like a _good_ thing."

Maxwell nodded, taking this all in. "And is it, Boss?"

"What?"

"A _good_ thing?"

Domai's smile cooled a bit and he looked back down at the airfield. The 'Toaster' had landed and its pilot and co-pilot were disembarking. "It'll change things," he murmured, mostly to himself and forgetting his aide's presence for just a moment. He then glanced back and bobbed his square chin a few times. "Yeah. Yeah, make it sound a _good _thing."

"Timeframe you want it? Today?" God help him, but Domai could see the boy actually compose the message right there and then. Sure, it'd be rough and to the point and lack any diplomatic polish, but it'd get the job done. All of which rather defeated the point of giving him the assignment in the first place.

"Second Shift tomorrow will be fine. Try not to be too verbose."

"Gotcha, Boss."

"Get going," The Foreman nodded, and Maxwell quit the room with all speed. Domai knew full well the youngster would overthink the whole thing, compose likely four score versions of the letter, and finally turn in a text that would resemble his first effort and serve perfectly well. But at least he'd be out of everyone's hair for the next day or so. Domai couldn't help but feel a bit of an ass about using him like this.

Rather than dwell on such things, he looked back down at the 'Toaster', his mind's eye alight with visions of the future it heralded.

* * *

_**New Jerusalem**_

**Great Dunes, southeastern Pangea**

**Sister Goodwinson's Private Chambers**

**Hour of Sext (equivalent to Nine Bells Low)**

Miriam was a decisive woman – once she chose her path, she refused to look back and only reevaluated her position on a subject if it was deemed needful in light of new information. Once the decision was made to heed the warnings given by the Voice, she did not question or fret.

Her choice had served her people well in the past few weeks – mindworm sightings had decreased dramatically and the decreased pressure on her outlying settlements increased morale more than it had been in the past two years. Granted, she had been forced to abandon two very rich mining operations, but in the grand scheme – it was not much of a price to pay for the security of her people, even if it meant she was even more dependent upon Skye for material assistance.

Perhaps that would change with this next Council session. There were clearly things in the offing in Gaian territory, what with the shifting about of Invaders from Svensgaard's Pirates and their capture of a new class of Hive combat foil. Lady Skye's continued dodging of her calls left Miriam to wonder if reports of Gaian casualties from _High Garden _and _Fort Superiority_ weren't in fact understatements; certainly she'd never known Skye to effuse, but neither was the woman she privately derided as "nature's looney" the sort to ignore her peer's messages. That the entire Gaian leadership was suddenly "unavailable" – where in the past they'd positively unctuous in their offers – was a tad unnerving in its implications. There had also been disturbing rumors of new native lifeforms appearing, although Miriam took those with a grain of salt. Surely she would have been alerted by The Voice had something of greater note come to pass.

Her spies were few and far between within Skye's territory, and the little they could offer wasn't much more illuminating. They'd returned some vague chatter about increased probe activity in one of the core Gaian bases, a few messages regarding a "locust charmer" (whatever that might be)…and series of very interesting digital stills depicting the 'battle' for Gaia's High Garden.

This last bit was probably the only truly useable information gathered from the effort. The ship had a box like construction that suggested it was a transport or utility vessel of some sort, but it was so small in comparison that it was unlikely. The stills clearly showed that this vessel was equipped with missiles, probably Hellfires and was sufficiently maneuverable to avoid what little resistance it met.

What was probably most interesting was the time stamps. They were very clearly marked and the mysterious ship did _not _approach the base in a traditional manner. One instant, nothing and in the next the ship appeared, seemingly out of thin air.

Miriam tapped her finger against her desk in thought – it could have been a sort of camouflage, but she didn't think so. Imbecilic as they may be, the Hive forces had far too much to lose if Yang discovered they had been anything but hyper-vigilant in their monitoring of the area. Therefore, that left only two conclusions: Skye had either developed cloaking technology or found an Artifact that gave her a new mode of travel. Neither scenario was a pleasant one – both would put the heathen further ahead in technology, as if she needed help what with her little lapdog, Zakarov.

She gritted her teeth – neither scenario was also very likely. There would have been some sort of warning or communications from a number of other sources if Skye were researching such dangerous technology and Skye would have no reason to hide the discovery of another artifact.

A quiet tap on her personal office door broke her away from her musings, "Enter."

Jessica stepped through with a tablet in her hand and a curious expression on her face, "Sister, the Cult's Prophet requests to speak with you."

Miriam quirked her eyebrow and nodded, "Put him through to my personal console."

The younger woman cleared her throat, "No, Sister. He wishes to do so in person. He is in a chopper at the far edge of our territorial boundaries, closest to _Blessed Redeemer_." Miriam resisted the urge to spin and scream at the girl; Jessica certainly didn't deserve such a reaction. Instead, Miriam closed her eyes and contemplated declining the self-styled Prophet's request. Relations between their domains after all were close to non-existent, more due to the vast gulf separating them theologically, rather than physically. She owed the Prophet no favors and saw no earthly reason to subject herself to his mystical claptrap.

Instead she breathed a small prayer for strength and patience. She'd need both - in abundance - for the coming audience.

"Have him land at _Blessed Redeemer_ and instruct he and whoever he's brought with him be made comfortable. I will meet him there tomorrow."

"My thanks for agreeing to this conference, Sister Miriam Magdalene Godwinson."

Were it not for the Prophet's small and clearly prepubescent appearance, Miriam would have sworn she was being addressed by a Cardinal easily five-times the boy's age. She kept her expression politely neutral and replied "As our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ commanded, our doors are open to all who seek shelter."

While the two robed Intercessors who flanked the Prophet tensed and appeared ready to respond, vocally if not violently. Cha Dawn by contrast didn't so much as blink and simply nodded. "The Rabbi of Nazareth had the wisdom of a thousand men, and easily, the purest of souls."

Miriam remained still, silently fuming at the Prophet _oh-so-respectful_ tone. She longed to put the lash to the boy and teach him some real respect, but equally suspected it would be a pointless, even counterproductive effort. He was simply too wedded to his blasphemy to appreciate the damage he was doing to his followers, just as they themselves were so completely wedded to _him_ that she had long ago surrendered all hope for their immortal souls. If only that pestilence hadn't reduced her flock so, Miriam would have readily called for a crusade against this Prophet and his worm-tainted horrors.

Yet here she sat, breaking bread with the same and calmly discussing…what? It occurred to Miriam only then that the Prophet had not offered a reason for the conference, nor indeed any inducement which would have prompted her to agree to it. Had he bewitched her somehow? And if so, to what purpose?

Miriam became aware then of how he gazed at her. No, _through_ her, into somewhere…deeper.

"You have heard it? The Voice?"

"Yes," Miriam heard herself murmur.

"Something has _changed_ in the ways of Planet. You know this." The urgency in the Prophet's voice was unmistakable, and his words were not a question, nor did Miriam think of them as such.

"Yes."

The Prophet appeared ready to say more, but instead studied the grains of the wood between them. Raising his golden eyes to meet her's, he spoke in a more mellow and calm voice. "I come to ask a question of you, Sister. Will you hear it?"

"I could hardly invite you into my home only to refuse such a request, Prophet." It was a polite lie and both of them knew it. Indeed, everyone present knew it, which was why Miriam indulged in the small falsehood.

"Then I would ask you this: could you stomach an alliance with those you consider – and who consider you – the embodiment of blasphemy?"

It took Miriam some time to answer this, in part because the question itself was so…puzzling. Beyond her very limited contacts with both Skye's people and the ever-present threat of Santiago's armies, her Believers rarely entered into active negotiations with anyone. This was as much due to practical reasons as philosophical ones. Their enclave was in one of the more remote regions of the continent, with few roads and still fewer resources to offer; her own distrust of the many technologies the other factions were busy developing and deploying kept her people safe from its excesses, and by the same token vulnerable to the same.

It came down to a matter of trust, she supposed, which in itself was ironic given how clearly untrustworthy her fellow peers were. Lal's mania about 'freedom of expression' and all that led him to tolerate the most grotesque distortions of the truth, while Yang's equally pronounced dictatorial streak meant _any_ expression of faith was ruthlessly stamped out. Morgan cared only for his profits, his pet anarchist for her intrigues, and all the others were equally useless.

But the Prophet and his cult, they were _different_. Oh, their creed was as blasphemous and evil as anything Miriam had encountered in Africa during the Second Crusader March…but it was something she understood, even relate to. It utterly twisted the holy word and gave God substance, but it was a religious creed nonetheless. She could use that, communicate through that, perhaps even nudge the boy and his followers back on to the righteous path.

Provided she was reading him correctly. Miriam deliberately frowned and asked "Do I take it _you_ are offering me an actual alliance between our two creeds?" She consciously avoided using the term 'faction' when describing her people, as it made it sound as if the other colonists were their equals.

"Precisely so," Cha Dawn nodded slowly.

"And I would agree to this…why?"

The Prophet offered her a small smile and said "I could offer many reasons. Would sharing our research into ecological engineering be a start?"

"And in exchange you want what?"

"A pledge of your support in a future vote before the Council."

Miriam held herself still, forcing herself to consider the offer in total. On the surface, the boy was offering her much and asking little. Her people were barely able to eek out enough crops to feed themselves, so any additional knowledge on how to work the land would be a welcome bonus; her sinful (yet unshakable) pride had held her from asking the same of Skye. Yet the Prophet was offering the knowledge, directly if not freely. But that was just the surface, and her dealings with him in the past had taught her that anything the Prophet engaged in was akin to an iceberg, with the real substance occurring beneath the surface appearances. She had no intention of wedding her people to the whims of this boy and his worm-mad followers, and certainly wasn't willing to swear blind to promise she was unsure of.

She had no spies within Cultist territory, and the Prophet allowed no missionaries of any manner there. Thus she had no idea what the Prophet might wish to put before the Council.

Deciding she had nothing to actually loose by asking the obvious, Miriam queried "And what matter do you plan to put to a vote? I warn you, much as I cannot abide her personally, Skye has my support for another term."

"I've no desire for the governorship," the Prophet assured her, and Miriam noted he didn't elaborate on what he _did_ have a desire for. "I simply wish to petition for, shall we say, normalized trade across Planet."

"You're endorsing Lal's idea of a global trade regime?" Much as she might have wished otherwise, Miriam had needed to enter into commerce agreements with both Santiago and Skye. Both had been scrupulously fair with her (thus far), but the pusillanimous fool Lal had been advocating going further and every faction agree to a formalized trade pact that would tie them all together. Morgan and Domai had made noises about supporting it, but she knew of no-one else who had.

Cha Dawn snorted softly. "Hardly. I'm presenting my own version, but not just now."

"When, then?"

"In due time."

"I will not sell my people into bondage, Prophet. Know that."

"Nor would I expect you to, Sister. You will be consulted."

This mollified Godwinson, at least on the surface. She tried one further question, just to see how far the Prophet was prepared to go in his offer. "I suppose you wish for your Intercessors to be given free reign among my people?"

"A single emissary, nothing more. An ambassador, if you will." Cha Dawn give her a tight little grin. "Even the Bishop of Rome exchanged emissaries with the Sultanate. Surely you won't begrudge such an example."

Miriam thought furiously. The Holy See did have a history of apostolic delegations, and her own missionaries were found the world over. Yet the thought of even one emissary from another faction, a Cultist one at that, turned her stomach mightily. She'd gone to such lengths to keep her flock clean of any temptation and blasphemy…and now she was being asked to _invite_ it into her very home. Even in the worst days of the Pestilence, thirty years back, had she even considered such a move.

Despite herself, despite all reason and good sense, Miriam Godwinson nodded her assent.

"Done."

The Prophet's smile was a wide one, inside which Miriam was sure she could hear the wails of the damned…herself included in their number.

* * *

_**Data DeCentral**_

**Landing Bay, eastern Elysium**

**Network Node Monitor Alpha**

**Three-Dot-Forty-Four-Beta (equivalent to quarter to Four Bells High)**

To lead a faction on Planet, one required a magnificent poker face. Every single leader on Planet was exceptional in their ability to school and control their emotions. It was necessary – a stray word or a slight frown could be interpreted as an act of aggression by those with hot heads. Of the twelve, Roze thought that perhaps Svensgaard had the best and her own was only second to his.

The man rarely emoted – she knew he did, because Skye would not stay with a Robot for two centuries, but he never gave into the impatience. She smirked a bit as she stared at the stark walls of her office, deep in thought – it was interesting that so many leaders fell prey to the idea that technology alone was the reason she was so good at her spy games. No, it as much psychology as technology. You had to know your enemy's mind, to know how they would react to any given situation, and know how to use that data to manipulate circumstances to one's own favor. Very few outside her inner circle knew that she would spend countless hours in her office, just sitting and contemplating the other faction leaders.

This wasn't random musing by any means; she doubted anyone on Planet fully appreciated how detailed the dossiers her people had collected were, or how thoroughly their penetration of the global datalinks actually was. It was no exaggeration that the Angels knew more about the goings-on across Planet than Planet itself did, and likely as not none of her fellow leaders or their entourages were even half as informed about their own people as she was. Even that tight-ass Yang and the fanatical Miriam had their personal blind-spots that Roze and her Angels were all too happy to exploit.

It was Morgan however who gave her the most amusement, to the point where the merest thought of their latest intel out of Morgan Industries threatened her carefully-practiced composure. Apparently the _old man _had finally gotten wise that he had a leak among his upper tier and was putting out flawed data in hopes of catching him or her in the act, except it was such an incompetent job nobody could possibly take it seriously. That he had a double-dealer was hardly news to herself, given her own Analysts had long ago sliced directly into said double-dealer's conduit leading to his handler. Giving Morgan this person's scalp might raise her stock with him a bit, but if the ultimate end of the conduit was who they suspected, the risk was greater than any reward Morgan could offer.

Besides, it was more fun to watch the old man stumble about and pretend he had a clue.

Well that, plus how _challenging_ he was making it for them to successfully get a complete mirror of his Mind-Machine Interface schematics out of his systems. The security around those files was so tight that every scenario they'd run against it to date ended up with their teams compromised (or worse). There was also some kind of secondary project underway codenamed "Lifter"; security was a little lighter there, but not by much. The current debate amongst the Special Ops Panel was whether or not to risk inserting a team directly into Morgan Aerodrome to get a direct look; Roze herself was ambivalent there. Whatever the old man was playing at, she doubted heavily it would change the overall equation between them.

Unlike the latest little discovery from the Oversight Panel. The Spartans had taken pains to secure their internal networks since losing Fort Superiority, but still had a way's to go before presenting a serious challenge to her Angels. The Oversight Panel had taken an interest in the virus that had literally blown the locks off that base and touched off this latest war. Their interest wasn't entirely whimsical or academic; if it happened to the security-conscious Spartans, what was to stop it happening to them? They'd been trying to reassemble the underlying code for most of the past year but hadn't gotten terribly far. Whoever the programmer had been, they'd been smart enough to ensure the key-code chain erased itself upon activation. Roze had used the same trick herself plenty of times.

Luckily for them, the mystery programmer had proven less adept than her Angels, and Oversight had successfully pulled together enough fragments they could extrapolate something coherent. The trouble was, what they were extrapolating was sure to get them all into hot water with _El Presidente_ Santiago…provided the hyper-violent wench remained rational enough to actually _listen_ for a change and not go declaring vendetta against them for having constructed the base coding for the virus in the first place.

Roze rarely allowed herself to feel shame. It was anathema to her personality, given every decision she made and action she authorized was for the good of her people. This discovery couldn't even touch that excuse, given it wasn't even a deliberate decision or action on her part. The original virus had been just a string of meaningless little code, designed in her off time as more of an entertainment than an actual attempt at breeching Spartan security. That someone had used it, never mind the way it had been used, was shocking on several different levels.

There was of course the obvious fact that she'd had a role in the death of _innocent_ civilians. The casualty counts at _Fort Legion_ were still heavily guarded, so Roze could only imagine how many had been killed by her work. Worse, her security must have been lacking while still at Morgan Industries if the old man – or, even scarier, someone else entirely – had so easily got ahold of her code _and_ figured out how to use it. Clearly she had not been nearly as careful as she originally thought, and that shook her sense of security across the whole of her life and her domain. What else had this unknown party been able to take and use? Had they even used it against her own people?

Roze wondered if should even bother telling Santiago; the woman seemed to positively get off on sending her troops marching every which way, and likely wouldn't think twice about landing a legion or three on her doorstep for her not so minor (if wholly unintentional) part in this mess.

And if that little bombshell wasn't enough, their team inside Drone Central was sending back still more images of what the Analysts had started calling "the flying shoebox". It bore a perfect resemblance to the aircraft mock-up they'd sighted in Gaia's Landing nearly four months ago. Her people had reached a rare consensus that it was some experimental design that probably hadn't made it off the ground, hence the Gaians keeping it under wraps. Roze had recalled the team that snapped the original picture almost immediately thereafter, unwilling to risk them trying for anything more on the "shoebox". Just as well she did, as it seemed someone else's team botched an assassination job there that same day.

Somehow the Drones had gotten their hands on it and were actually making the darned thing _fly_. If the footage that'd been hypercoded and decrypted was accurate, the "shoebox" looked like it could handle at least as well as a needlejet. It may have lacked the speed and grace of Skye's newest _Penetrator_ class fighters, but having VTOL thrusters and the ability to stop and pivot on a proverbial dime more than compensated.

Exactly who had dreamt up such a vehicle was a matter of some debate. To the best of their knowledge, neither Skye nor Domai had uncovered any new artifacts, nor had anybody made any major breakthroughs to be detected. Roze felt mildly irritated at the thought of Domai or Skye or both having super-competent engineers who could make even a metal shoebox fly, if only because it meant her own people were falling behind in the tech race. Covert Operations might have been her Angel's primary forte, but putting the intel and raw data they acquired to practical use ran a close second; it was no secret that a 'skunkworks' node was among the first facilities they built in their new bases. Fortunately they had energy credits to burn these days, and so could afford to construct them in rapid succession, and in the process crank out new hardware so to give even the Spartans a run for their money.

But this "shoebox" changed that equation, and did so in ways that had Roze mentally scrambling. Even their finally stitching together a complete file on Bioengineering _and_ the proposed 'Longevity Vaccine' regimen that the Peacekeepers, Morgan and Yang were each working on didn't entirely balance the scales. No doubt Domai already had a production schedule worked out; they were even bigger on planning out production and quotas than Commissioner Lal and the UN were about market regulation. While she wouldn't weep a single tear when the Morganite Combine got displaced in shipping and commerce, having to negotiate with Domai wasn't something she relished pondering.

There was nothing for it: she'd have to approach Domai and try to make a direct trade with him. Last she looked, he'd started to lag again in his R-n-D after overloading a local network and wiping out a decade's work in particle physics. Maybe he'd be receptive to her approaches for a change if she offered a complete file in its place.

The door to her office swished open and smooth voice asked "You summoned me, Datajack?"

Roze looked over at new arrival. Adair Ichan was a remarkably lovely woman with a surprisingly strong Afrikkans accent. Her CV was longer than Roze's arm andshe rated as _Thinker_ – which partially explained her four Ph.D certifications with both Zarakov and the UN – but with _Transcend_ potential, a rare combination that _wasn't_ on any database anywhere on Planet. Ichan had been behind some of their more substantive coups, both over the datalinks and in the field.

Roze eyed the woman closely, gauging how she need to approach this subject. "A recent investigation turned up interesting findings about the attack on Fort Legion." Roze very carefully watched Ichan's body language and facial expressions. She was either very good at fooling others or she was genuinely confused as to her presence here.

"It seems the place was vented thanks to a virus that overrode all the internal seals."

Ichan nodded. "So I'd heard."

"What you didn't hear is how that virus was one of my own creations. At least its base code was." Again, all Ichan did was nod, this time without comment. This merely reminded Roze why the girl scared her so badly, enough that she decided to cut this little interview shorter than usual.

"I want you to find who did this thing. Find them out and deliver clear proof of their crime."

"Is that all, Datajack?" Ichan's mouth gave a small twist as she asked this, something between a grimace and predatory grin. Roze kept her own features schooled and blank, lest she join her loyal subordinate in such revelry.

"Just get the evidence. We'll decide the appropriate response once we know who we're dealin' with." She dismissed Ichan with a sharp nod, swiveling her chair away so she was looking once more at a blank wall. Ichan was quite used to her leader's habits, and so took no offense and left the room without further comment. This left the uncrowned Queen of the Datajacks with but one final conundrum to resolve, ironically on a subject that forever perplexed her and left her in a rare and unwelcome state of indecision:

Should she wear her favorite leather jacket to the Council, or just her mesh tank-top?

* * *

_**Razorbeak Wood **_

**Togakon Ise Research Hospital**

**Prenatal Care Ward**

Adrienne strode down the hall, reading the top tablet with some annoyance – for some reason, everyone kept forgetting that Kara was not a flipping lab rat and continued to demand a barrage of tests that were either invasive or otherwise dangerous. She would need to discuss this with Skye…again…and hope that she would listen to reason. She was carefully planning her arguments when a sharp pain started in her left eye and traveled through Adrienne's head and halfway down her spine.

It was so painful that she moaned out loud and blacked out of several seconds, automatically dropped the tablets in her hand and tripped into the wall. When she came to, she was face down and laying at an awkward angle. The pain would not let up – pulsing at regular inverters, continuing to debilitate to such a degree that even moving was difficult.

"Doctor? Do you have…Adrienne!"

She felt her eyes blink unevenly and allowed them to close for several seconds. She thanked all the Gods in the universe for allowing her to slip into unconsciousness.

"Shit! What the hell? I told you to back off!"

"We need more information and your unacceptable concern for the asset is slowing us down. Either push it harder or get out of my control room."

"You shorted the equipment out – it has to go through a sleep cycle before it can reboot. We are blind for the next six hours MINIMUM!"

Adrienne felt her eyes flutter open. She blinked at the ceiling, immediately wondering how long she had been out. She was laying in a hospital bed in the maternity ward – wearing the distinctive solid light blue hospital gown. There was absolutely no pain to be felt now, but she knew it was a temporary respite. It would return soon enough, but she would enjoy it while she had it.

She leaned over and pushed the green button so she could sit up and eyed the door, curious as to who the staff would set on her for this latest incident. She was somewhat amused to see Nora Patel, a colleague from Neurology, appear at her door. She made a show of checking Adrienne's charts carefully and taking forever in the process. She then set the charts with seemingly great care, and marched through her door as if she was a woman on a mission. Given that Nora was a nag, was good friends with Sean, and didn't take bullshit from anyone – least of all fellow doctors - Adrienne was about to get reamed.

There was one thing that was really annoying about Nora Patel –she was intimidating when she wanted to be. Right now, she definitely wanted to be. "Adrienne. You should have made this appointment two months ago." She paused, for effect Adrienne was sure, "You have put your body through a great deal of strain and are very lucky nothing is permanently damaged."

Adrienne sighed dramatically, "What, no 'hello Dr. Hadley, wonderful to see you again!'?" Adrienne quirked an eyebrow, "You really need to work on your bedside manner Patel. You didn't even ask me how I was feeling at the moment!"

"Since you are currently my patient not my colleague, no I don't. So tell me Adrienne, why have you not made an appointment to have your implants inspected? You missed your yearly tune up appointment and from your husband's loud, angry, and somewhat repetitive ranting, you have been having problems with migraines and body pains for nearly three months…right about the time Maternity became a fortress." There was almost a question to the last bit, but Adrienne just shook her head – Nora was not cleared for any of that information and that was not likely to change for a least a few more months.

Nora shrugged, she knew that if it was relevant to Adrienne's well being, Sean would tell her – and say fuck the consequences.

Adrienne decided that a bit of placating was in order, "I was planning on coming in. Sean and I…we are thinking about starting a family soon and…" Adrienne shrugged.

Nora eyed her friend closely, her eyes squinted a bit and she finished Adrienne's statement, "Implants can interfere with the proper development of the child."

"Exactly." She nodded.

"And you want to get the old junk out before you start trying?"

Adrienne felt an eyebrow quirk up, "Yes. Isn't that what I just implied?"

"Implication is imprecise and one should never assume anything – remember Ryder's diagnostics course?" Nora grinned a bit and Adrienne returned it with a wry smile. Adrienne watched as Nora's grin grew into a full blown and felt a shiver of amused trepidation, "Well, dear patient, if you had just come in when all this started, your plans would have been perfect. But, in this case, better late than never." Nora made a few notations and started out of the room.

Adrienne frowned in confusion, "Wait – what do you mean?"

Nora turned back, smirk still in place, "I am a little rust on my obstetrics, but I know that if a patient wants to remove their cybernetic implants, the best time to do it is before the end of the first trimester. Congratulations Adrienne, your are pregnant."

* * *

_**Elsewhere**_

_**Probe control room**_

The whole team was sitting in the briefing room, worried as hell. The asset had undergone a major episode and they had no way to reconnect – the original six hour estimate for bringing surveillance systems back online had been reassessed to nearly two days. They had to come up with a way to shorten that time span – and fast. They also absolutely needed to find a way to minimize the strain on the asset – if they fried the brain, well – project done and they would be liquidated.

"Discovery at this stage would risk complete failure. Temperance in both the use of the Asset and plans for taking the child is necessary. We must create contingency operations – shorter, but more frequent observations through the Asset would be both prudent. Also, plans to take and house the mother would probably bear the most fruit in terms of long term project viability."

"The delay is unacceptable, we need that intel and without that intel we have no way to track viable subjects – getting subjects now is vital to project success. Focusing on the alien as a sole source of information is unwise. We have many potential targets that are within easy reach and would decrease the risk of intended mission. We could be using the Asset to find and target multiple viable subjects."

"Why bother? The Asset has been deemed disposable and the Alien and her infant are no doubt the best source of the data we need and the risk assessment are within acceptable parameters."

"The Thrace woman is an unknown variable – we know too little of her personal history, she could be trained in advanced combat, stronger than our current data indicates or susceptible to pathogens that are considered harmless. We should wait until the child is born and take possession at that time – minimize the strain on the Asset and use her then. The child will be easier to contain and isolate – and we could dispose of the Asset permanently. Moreover, an infant is much easier to transport."

"What are the risks to the Asset if more intense monitoring protocols were in place? It would give us the least amount of risk exposure and allow for more study."

"It is very risky – the asset is showing severe physiological strain from current level of use. Greater utilization might lead to any number of physical complications that would take the asset out of useful proximity without any further benefit to the project. Recommend light monitoring with no emphasis on further data gathering until infant is born. Reassess at that time."

Each person grew silent, contemplating what options were currently available to them and which would produce the best results in the most efficient and timely manner. They silently glanced at each other for several moments, each afraid to be the one to make the final decision – no one wanted to be responsible for the failure of the project at this stage.

"Light monitoring – give the Asset time to recover and recuperate, track the Alien's pregnancy. We shall reassess once the child is born."

"Agreed."

* * *

Thank you for your patience in waiting for this somewhat painful chapter - both Ubber and I went through some, let's call them 'interesting' times in the past few months. Never-the-less, we *are* working on the story and will try to be more consistent about updating.

We hope you all have a happy and safe holiday, regardless of which you celebrate!

Enjoy and please review!


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